Harry's Guardian Angel
by Bailey Elizabeth
Summary: What happened to Harry Potter when he was young? What happened when he felt sick, or scared, or sad? This is a tale about a desperate time in Harry's childhood and how a stranger became his heroine, his hope, his guardian angel.
1. Chapter 1

"The Kinney family has invited us for dinner tomorrow night!" Vernon Dursley said excitedly as he walked into his living room.

"Do you mean the rich Kinney family that just moved in next door?" Petunia Dursley replied with just as much enthusiasm as her husband. Harry knew that nothing made the Dursleys happier than rich friends that they could mooch off of and use for vacations and other benefits of being wealthy. He was sitting in the living room, a victim of Dudley's bullying until his Uncle Vernon had walked into the room, not that Uncle Vernon really cared that his son was bullying Harry, after all Harry knew that the Dursleys didn't like him very much. He wasn't their child and he just took up money, food and space.

Harry was a very skinny boy of six who lived with his aunt, uncle and very spoiled cousin. His parents had tragically died in a car accident five years previous and the Dursleys were the only living family he had left. Sometimes Harry missed them, his parents, though he didn't know what they looked like because he was only one year old when he last saw them. But Harry had created an idea of what his parents were like and sometimes when he was feeling lonely, scared or sad, he would imagine that they were there with him, helping him feel better. His teachers would sometimes call home to inform his aunt and uncle that they thought Harry had a serious mental problem because he was continuously talking to nothing but thin air and addressing it as "mum" and "dad". But the Dursleys did the same thing every time, pretended to care and then hung up the telephone and did absolutely nothing about it.

Dudley ran up to his father and punched him square in the stomach, as that was his way of saying hello. "Hello there Dudders." said Uncle Vernon massaging the injury his son had just given him. He now looked toward his wife. "Yes, the very same Kinneys Petunia dear. Robert Kinney told me just now. But I hope you understand how vital it is that we impress them."

"Of course dear," Aunt Petunia replied loyally, "This is absolutely wonderful! I went shopping the other day and bought Diddykins a brand new suit to wear." She pinched her son's cheeks and nose and he drew back.

"There's just one… little problem." Uncle Vernon said re-emerging from the coat closet, "He asked that everyone join us, specifically including Harry." Harry, who was not paying attention, suddenly tuned into to the conversation at the sound of his name.

The excitement slowly drained out of Aunt Petunia's face. "They specifically mentioned his name?"

"Yes."

"They said, 'Bring Harry along?'"

"Technically, yes."

"And what do you mean by technically?" she asked acidly. She was clearly on a desperate search for a loophole in this matter.

"Well… He started the conversation asking questions about him, such as how is he and other nonsense. I tried to bring Dudley into the conversation but every time they changed it back to Harry. They seemed very interested in him. That's when they suggested we come to dinner with them tomorrow, bringing Dudley and Harry along with us."

Aunt Petunia stared blankly at her husband and a smile slowly crept across Harry's face. He never got to go anywhere with them. He had never been to an amusement park, or a restaurant, or to an arcade or away anywhere on vacation or even to a birthday party. Every time something entertaining came up in their schedule, the Dursleys shipped Harry off to a babysitter, and never a good one. It was mostly Mrs. Figg, the old lady who lived across the street who was entirely too obsessed with cats. His smile quickly disappeared as his aunt and uncle looked at him, their lips pursed their faces manically evil.

"So I guess the question is, do we bring him along or lose the chance of fraternizing with our… lovely new neighbours?" Uncle Vernon suggested.

"Well… I-I guess we could… bring him if it means… you know... if Robert Kinney really wants us to." stuttered Aunt Petunia.

Uncle Vernon turned his head sharply to his nephew. "Don't get any bright ideas Potter," he snapped, spitting on the P in Potter, "If you ruin this for us, even in the slightest, you will no longer live harmoniously under this roof. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Uncle Vernon." said Harry, with a very flat tone in his voice for a child who just received such exciting news.

"What are you up to?" Aunt Petunia said sharply, noticing Harry's non excitement.

"Nothing, I didn't do anything." said Harry innocently.

"You sure don't sound like you're happy about this."

"I am, honest. It's just… I feel funny. I'm going to bed." It was only seven thirty but Harry was exhausted and left the living room for his room in the cupboard under the stairs. He quickly put on his pyjamas, regardless of whether or not they were correct and curled up into his bed. _"What's wrong with me?"_ he asked himself. He rubbed his cold, clammy hands on his temples, closed his eyes and drifted to sleep.

Harry didn't sleep well that night. He woke up seven times feeling hungry, because he skipped dinner, and sick but he didn't quite know what was wrong. He finally got up at six thirty and went into the kitchen. Aunt Petunia and Dudley were already there, Dudley slurping down his cereal, toast and eggs like some sort of barn animal.

Aunt Petunia put another large plate of food on the table. "I don't think Uncle Vernon is awake yet." noted Harry, knowing that his aunt never ate food of that proportion.

"This isn't for him, this is for you."

Harry's eyes widened. "Me? Why?"

"Because, since Robert Kinney seems so interested in you, Vernon and I have concluded that he is a social worker checking up on us. If he sees that you're looking even the slightest bit peaky they'll… arrest us or something."

Harry didn't know much about social workers, but he was pretty sure that you couldn't get arrested for not feeding your nephew. Aunt Petunia often overreacted when she didn't understand things. "But… I can't eat all of this food." said Harry.

"Oh you can, and you will. Or this will be your last meal." She turned back to the sink and continued to wash dishes.

Harry sat at the table in front of the large plate of food and stared at it. He was hungry, but not that hungry and had a severe fear of becoming as large as Dudley. Regardless, he picked up his fork and began to eat.

Not long thereafter Uncle Vernon arrived in the kitchen looking refreshed, his face clean and his teeth brushed. "Morning family!" he exclaimed cheerfully and he sat at the table next to his son and across from Harry.

"Morning, dear," said Petunia kissing her husband and placing a large plate of breakfast in front of him as well as a smaller portioned plate in front of her seat.

There was silence as everyone tucked in hungrily. With much difficulty Harry managed to finish the whole plate of breakfast Aunt Petunia served him. Then he cleaned up his plate and Dudley's and went back to his room breathing deeply. _Maybe now you can get some sleep since you've eaten. _Harry thought, closing his eyes. But it hadn't been three minutes before Aunt Petunia called him back again.

Harry didn't get a chance to sleep at all during the day either because it was very important that Harry was fattened up and well groomed for this occasion. Aunt Petunia was very convinced that Robert Kinney was a social worker. So when Harry wasn't eating he was getting a haircut or having his nails trimmed etc. Although he attempted countless times to tell his aunt and even his uncle that he didn't feel right and had gotten no sleep the previous night they did not seem to be capable of listening. So Harry felt miserable all day long, but he refused to let himself think that he was sick. He didn't enjoy being sick, not only because it was uncomfortable but because it meant that he was to be confined in his room to protect Dudley from whatever ailment Harry was suffering from, even if he had contracted it from Dudley in the first place.

After his bath, Aunt Petunia finally gave him time to himself as she bathed Dudley and dressed him. Harry locked himself in his room, just in case she changed her mind. He lay down flat on his back, his hands on his stomach and closed his eyes. He was too full, Aunt Petunia had overfed him all day, insisting that it would make a difference, and it made Harry feel uneasy. "I've got to make myself feel better," said Harry aloud to no one. "I can't ruin this for Uncle Vernon. Maybe if I'm good then he will like me more." Harry turned over and tried to get some rest before dinner, but again couldn't because Dudley did not want to put his clothes on and was putting up a very noisy fight upstairs that was audible from Harry's bedroom. He closed and opened his eyes several times but it was no use, and he soon heard Aunt Petunia yell throughout the house, "Is everybody ready?", forcing him to get up from the comfort of his bed and go wait in the living room for the rest of the family to gather.

Uncle Vernon opened the front door and the crisp night air washed over Harry's face as he stepped out onto the front stoop. It was nearly dark now, and the sky was specked with faded stars. Harry felt as though the entire day had been a blur of "Potter come here!" and trying ineffectively to feel better specifically for that night.

They soon arrived at the restaurant and though Harry was amazed at its elegance he was also disappointed; it was a seafood restaurant. "But I don't like seafood." Harry said as Uncle Vernon struggled to find a parking space on his own. He hated the concept of paying the valet parker to do something he had to learn in order to pass his driving exam.

"Last I checked we didn't ask your opinion." Aunt Petunia replied and Dudley snorted. Harry sank low in his seat. He could feel himself getting sicker. The car finally came to a stop and Dudley, Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and lastly Harry stepped out of the vehicle.

Robert, his wife Elisabeth and his daughter Samantha were waiting patiently outside the restaurant engaging in sophisticated conversation. Robert Kinney was similar to Uncle Vernon, short and rather stout except with dark hair, no moustache and glasses. Elisabeth Kinney was much thinner and much younger than her husband with wispy blonde hair and a very reserved and shy disposition. Samantha Kinney was very different from her parents. Although she had inherited her father's dark hair and her mother's sea blue eyes, there was something about her that was unique and Harry couldn't quite place his finger on it.

"Why, hello!" chorused both Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, in a strangely friendly tone. The Kinney family and the Potter-Dursley family drew closer and closer until Vernon Dursley met Robert Kinney in a firm handshake.

"It's lovely of you to come. What a pleasure it is to see you."

"The pleasure is all mine." replied Uncle Vernon.

"This is my wife Elizabeth and my daughter Samantha." introduced Robert Kinney. Mrs. Kinney gave a smile through her pursed lips and Samantha waved timidly.

"This is my wife Petunia, my son Dudley and… my nephew Harry."

"So this is Harry," said Mrs. Kinney, inspecting Harry briefly from head to toe. She smelled strongly of expensive perfume. "I think that it's simply wonderful of you to take him in after a tragedy like that. You and your sister must have been very close."

"We were inseparable." Aunt Petunia said drawing a handkerchief from her coin purse and daintily wiping the corners of her eyes. Dudley laughed, but Harry didn't think it was funny. He didn't know much about his parents but he knew that his mother must have done something to upset Aunt Petunia, or vice versa, but it was enough that their relationship had been destroyed. Now, she was talking about her as though they had been friends all along and it seemed antagonizing to him.

"Your son is absolutely adorable." said Mrs. Kinney now turning from Harry to a chubby and impatient Dudley.

"What do you say to Mrs. Kinney, Dudley?" prompted Aunt Petunia.

"I'm hungry. Can we eat now?" Dudley said loudly. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia froze, but the Kinneys simply laughed.

"We've already made reservations," Mr. Kinney explained, "Our table should be ready by now."

They walked into the warm restaurant. It was everything Harry could imagine a fancy restaurant would be like; the waiters and waitresses wore suits with trays carried on their shoulders and their noses pointed toward the ceiling. The room was dimly but sufficiently lit with candles on the walls and tables, and a dark but lavish red carpet. The tables were dressed with white cloth and were each arranged with a small assortment of roses.

Mr. Kinney cleared his throat. "We've made previous reservations, under the name Robert Kinney." he said very professionally.

The waiter checked the computer. "Ah, but of course. Right this way Mr. Kinney." They followed the waiter deep into the restaurant. As they passed each table served with elegant seafood Harry felt more and more nauseous.

"Are you all right?" Samantha Kinney asked him. She had been walking behind Harry the whole time and noticed his disgusted facial expressions as he stared at the passing plates.

"I'm all right… I'm great." said Harry and he turned away from her before she could ask anything else. He knew that if the Dursleys noticed that Harry was getting more attention from her than Dudley then they would force Dudley upon her, and Harry would never purposely do that to anyone, especially not Samantha Kinney.

They reached the table and everyone sat down. After the bread and champagne arrived, Mr. Kinney began conversation. "So, Harry, how are your grades in school?"

"Er… I dunno… I suppose they're good." Harry answered nervously.

"You know Dudley always gets amazing grades. Just last week he brought home an A on a spelling test!" exclaimed Uncle Vernon, chuckling and ruffling his son's hair proudly. Much to Harry's surprise, Mr. and Mrs. Kinney were impressed with Uncle Vernon's lies.

But Harry didn't care, he had his own problems. He now truly realized how sick he was. His eyesight was doubling, he felt nauseous and lightheaded and he had a very bad headache that felt like his brain was seconds from exploding. Despite all of this, the worst feeling was probably the fact that Harry knew no one cared, that this dinner was more important to the Dursleys than his health. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and tried as hard as a six year old could to hide his pain.

"What's wrong? Are you uncomfortable?" Samantha Kinney asked when she noticed Harry's shifting. Harry took a deep breath and forced a smile.

"I'm just… very warm." he said, taking off his jacket, "That's a lovely necklace." he noted kindly, changing the topic.

Samantha giggled. "Why, thank you. You are so cute." And to Harry's relief, she turned back to her bread plate. Aunt Petunia gave Harry a piercing look and he looked down at his lap before he caused any further trouble.

The night continued on with the Kinney's beginning conversation about Harry then the Dursleys averting the conversation away from him and towards Dudley. Soon enough Robert and Elizabeth had fallen in love with Dudley, or at least with what Uncle Vernon had built him up to be. Even Samantha seemed more interested in him though she still kept a keen eye on Harry; she still had a feeling that something was wrong with him.

She was correct in feeling so, Harry felt so sick he could barely order his food when the waitress arrived. And when she returned with the food, something happened. Maybe it was the smell of the seafood or just the fact that Harry's illness had reached its climax, but at that moment Harry felt an overpowering urge to throw up. He tried to breathe and drink water to help, but the smell of the seafood was unbearable. As if that wasn't enough, his heart was beating out of his chest and he felt like his head was stuck in a very tight clamp.

"Excuse me, Aunt Petunia…may I be excused… to the restroom please?" Harry asked still being polite and trying very hard to cover up his pain.

"Not now, Harry." laughed Aunt Petunia, "The food's only just arrived. You may go in a couple of minutes."

"But it's—"

"I must say your children are the best behaved and most polite I have ever had the pleasure to meet." addressed Mrs. Kinney to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, who blushed with pride.

"Dudley is very intelligent and talented as well."

"Why thank you, your highness." Dudley said seriously and stupidly, with a slight bow of his head in respect to the "royalty".

"And Harry is so polite and kind. You really should congratulate yourselves on the fine job you've done with—"

Harry, unable to contain it anymore, vomited all over the lavish red carpet of the restaurant. Then, shaking ever so violently, he collapsed onto the floor and passed out.


	2. Chapter 2

When Harry woke up, he saw nothing but darkness and was all alone. As his eyes adapted he realized that he was in his room, lying fully clothed uncomfortably on top of his bed.

"Oh no," he croaked, "Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no." His bright green eyes filled with tears. "I ruined it didn't I? I absolutely ruined it. Uncle Vernon is gonna be so mad at me. He's . . . he's gonna. . . " Harry tried to sit up but couldn't. His head hurt more than it already did when he tried, and he lay back down, resting his head on his pillow. He put one hand on his sweaty forehead and the other on his stomach which ached as he did and Harry felt nauseous once again.

"Please, no more." begged Harry and coincidentally the pain receded and the nausea faded. Very slowly, Harry sat up and rose from his bed, took off his clothing and tucked himself into bed without even outing on pyjamas. "I want my mum." he said as he turned over. Though it was relatively comfortable concerning the temperature of the room, Harry was freezing and sweating at the same time. He slept in a small cupboard under the stairs with no heat and only a thin blanket to keep him warm.

"I-I want my mummy…" Harry repeated and suddenly the door opened and a pretty, pale, skinny woman entered Harry's bedroom.

"Mum!" squeaked Harry, propping himself up on the pillows. She had jet black hair and loud green eyes, similar to Harry's.

"Harry, I heard you crying and I came as fast as I could." she said sitting on the end of Harry's bed and putting a comforting hand on his leg. "What's wrong? Did you have a bad dream?"

"No," answered Harry, "I… I just… I don't feel well. Actually I feel really really sick." Harry was shaking more fiercely than ever. His mother moved up closer on the bed.

"It's okay sweetheart, we'll get through this. Would you like me to stay with you, until you feel better at least?" Harry didn't answer but continued to shake and since his mother was neither really there, nor alive and was simply a figment of his imagination, she understood that it meant yes.

Harry lay on his stomach, still shaking and wincing in pain, as his mother sat next to him on an imaginary stool, unable to do anything but occasionally touch him comfortingly, which made Harry feel more secure. He really wanted her to sing to him, to hug him, to cuddle with him or at least show him some kind of physical appreciation, but Harry was rubbish at singing and had never experienced a warm hug or a cosy cuddle and couldn't even imagine it in his dreams.

After about twenty minutes of Harry shuddering and still getting sicker his father came into the small cupboard. He was tall and handsome with dark hair and green eyes that were exactly like Harry's.

"What happened? You left about twenty minutes ago! Is Harry all right?" he asked.

"No, he's in a terrible state, he might even die!" his mother replied in a worried tone similar to the one Aunt Petunia used with Dudley.

"Maybe I should stay with you two, to protect you from anything scary." His father stood over by the tiny cupboard doorway both feet mounted on the ground, looking like a bouncer at a club.

Harry smiled faintly at this vision. His parents loved him so much that his mum would stay up with him as long as it took for him to fall asleep, even if that meant almost all night and his father would stand in front of the door protecting him from monsters, even though Harry knew grownups didn't believe in monsters. And it worked; Harry was slowly able to calm himself down numbing all the pain in every part of his body enough that he could relax and almost fall asleep, until his father spoke up.

"Harry?"

"Mmhmm?"

"What are you doing?"

"Trying… to sleep." Harry yawned.

"No, I mean what are you doing concerning us?"

Harry paused. "What do you mean?" He asked opening his eyes.

"I mean, we're not really here and you know that. We both died in a car accident five years ago. You've never even seen us before. For all you know we might not even look like this."

Harry, who had only just begun to relax, was now breathing deeply, as though he was going to cry. "W-why are you telling me this?"

"Because," he said more seriously this time, "I don't approve of it. Things like this make people crazy when they're older, and I will not help to raise a crazy son." He helped Harry's mother up from her stool and they stood together in front of the doorway, ready to leave.

"No… no wait… wait!" yelled Harry. But it was no use. His father had already left the room.

"Sorry, Harry, but it's for your own good." his mother said as she followed her husband.

Harry sat in his bed confused and in shock. What the hell was wrong with him? Did he really hate himself so much inside that he couldn't even pretend to have someone be there for him be there with him when he really needed? Eventually the shock wore off and Harry just felt like crying. And he did. He began to cry hysterically, to the point of no control. He could hardly breathe, and his head was pounding hard again.

"M-mummy! D-daddy! P-please come b-back! I n-need you! P-p-please!" Harry cried. He focused hard and tried to re-imagine them back in his room, but after what his father said to him it was very difficult.

But Harry refused to give up. He tried and tried again and finally he heard a soft and very real voice from outside his door say, "Harry?"

Harry sat up and opened his eyes. "Yes?" he answered, hoping with all his heart that it was someone who heard his cries and came to help.

"Stop making all of that noise." said the shrill voice of Aunt Petunia, "You'll wake Dudley."

"But Aunt Petunia, I'm sick, really sick, and I need someone to help me… Aunt Petunia?" But just like every other time Harry tried to talk to anyone in this family Aunt Petunia walked away, assuming that Harry understood the message she was trying to come across and didn't care about anything else. Harry grabbed his pillow and squeezed it hard to prevent himself from screaming. Now, in addition to being very sick and depressed that his parents had left him perhaps forever, Harry felt frustrated that nobody cared and nobody wanted to help him. He gave up, and tried to go back to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry woke up thrashing in his bed sheets, very scared and upset. He had slept rather uneasily for the next two or three hours, mostly in ten or twenty minute periods, but woke up this time because he had a terrible recurring nightmare and felt nauseous. He quickly put on his glasses and dressing robe and stumbled out of his bed and into the hallway.

Rays of sunlight shone through the cracks in the curtains. It was already morning and Harry had gotten barely any sleep. Still shuddering, he tiptoed to the kitchen to get something to eat thinking perhaps it would help him feel better. He took two steps before noticing that his Uncle Vernon was sitting at the table, still wearing his pyjamas and reading glasses, reading the newspaper.

He looked up at Harry, gave him a blank but meaningful look and then looked back at the newspaper. Harry cleared his throat. "Uncle Vernon, I'm really sorry… about yesterday. I didn't do it on purpose, I swear, and I tried to tell Aunt Petunia that I was… well, that I am sick, but she was too busy, and—"

"Go back to your room." Uncle Vernon said plainly, showing not a sign of anger.

"Wh-What?"

"I didn't stutter. Go back to your room." Uncle Vernon said more slowly as though Harry was hard of hearing. He shook the newspaper as though to officially end the conversation and went back to reading. Harry bit his bottom lip, wiped the tears off his face and obeyed his uncle. He closed the door and gently laid himself back on the bed. His stomach lurched and he gagged involuntarily. "I'm g-going to d-die aren't I?" Harry asked aloud.

Harry lay awake in his room for several hours, shaking and feeling awfully nauseous the entire time. No one came to his room to ask him if he was hungry, or if he was all right, given that he did pass out for several hours the previous night. So he cried softly until about ten-thirty when he stopped because he simply couldn't cry any longer. No one could hear him and no one cared, and it only contributed to the migraine and wore him out. He listened to Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley live their lives without him through the door and the walls only leaving the cupboard to use the bathroom or to attempt to vomit.

On one occasion, Harry went to the bathroom to throw up and encountered a very bored and very angry Dudley. He burst open the door and nearly scared the heart right out of poor Harry.

"Dudley, please not now. I'm too tired and too weak to—"

"Oh cut the nonsense." Dudley interjected angrily. He was getting dangerously close to Harry. "Dad and mum already know that you only did that little act yesterday because you were jealous of all the attention I was getting. You got what you wanted, the Kinneys fell for it, well at least Samantha did, but anyway, cut the nonsense or else." And he spat in Harry's face.

"Listen Dudley, it wasn't an act. I really am sick. I need you to tell your parents. _Please_. This is very serious. I could die." Harry choked back tears. He knew emotions only made matters worse when trying to negotiate with Dudley.

However Dudley simply laughed. "I am not going to help you with whatever you're doing," he said coldly, "I came here to punish you for taking the fancy things away things away from mum and dad and trying to take the attention away from me." He cracked his fingers.

"No… please Dudley, I can't run today…"

"_Please Dudley I can't run today_," Dudley mimicked in a girl voice, smirking. "As if I care. So which will it be Potter, your petty search for attention or your face?"

Dudley laughed harder as he came even nearer to Harry; he was now so close he could've hit him if he wanted to. Harry stayed still, unable to move because he was far too tired. Dudley took this as a signal that Harry was keeping with the "act" and punched Harry three times; once in the jaw (for his parents), once on the bridge of Harry's nose (for attention seeking), and once very hard directly on his temple (just for fun). This made Harry's head explode with pain.

He pretended to faint, to avoid any more physical pain and to get Dudley to leave, and then rushed to the cupboard where he slept and locked it with one of the loose pieces of wood. Harry threw himself on the bed, buried his face in the pillow grabbed two handfuls of his hair and screamed as hard as he could, thinking by doing this the pain would go away faster. But the opposite occurred instead. His brain seemed to be exploding and his stomach was boiling.

_Try calming down Harry,_ suggested a helpful voice in his head and he did. He imagined himself in a quiet library, reading one of his favourite books and the roaring pain in his head and stomach seceded.

About ten minutes of lovely daydreaming was ruined when he accidently dreamed about his parents and their car accident and woke up screaming and crying, again. That was the second time in one day his sleep had been disrupted because of that dream. It made him feel sick, worse than ever before and he left the room quietly and quickly avoiding Dudley for the bathroom. He heaved until he couldn't breathe and there were tears in his eyes. Then still hiccupping from crying, Harry pulled himself up from off the floor and went back downstairs, wishing very much that he were dead.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day Harry woke up really early. The night had been no different from the rest; no sleep and lots of crying and screaming. He got up before anybody else, at about three o' clock in the morning and went to the bathroom. He turned on the blinding light and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked terrible. His eyes were puffy and swollen from crying, his face was pale, rosy, and green all at the same time, there was a bruise on his left temple from where Dudley punched him the hardest, and his hair was ruffled and messier than usual. As if that wasn't terrible enough, it was also Monday and Harry had to go to school.

_Think positive. Maybe you'll get lucky and be able to stay home. _he thought, even though he knew very well that he wouldn't. He showered anyway. When he was clean and dressed, he retreated back to his room and rested until he heard the others get up.

Within minutes, Aunt Petunia was banging on his door screaming, "Get up and get dressed. You're going to school."

"I'm already dressed." Harry replied tiredly.

"Show me."

Harry dragged himself out of bed with a sigh and opened the bedroom door for Aunt Petunia's inspection. She checked him up and down, pursed her lips like she always did and walked away.

"Aunt Petunia, wait!" He followed her into the kitchen. "I honestly feel very sick today and I really need to stay home and get some rest. I c-can't go to school like this. Please, I won't ask for anything else. I promise—"

"No. Absolutely not. Do you think for one second that I am going to buy this little act of yours? You are going to school, and you will cut out this nonsense or I will make it so you never see the light of day again. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia." said Harry sadly as all the hope and what little bit of happiness he had left drained out of him.

"Good." Aunt Petunia simply walked away.

Harry didn't eat breakfast that morning. He feared that Uncle Vernon would attack him for what he "purposely" did to him and the Dursley family on Saturday night. He grabbed his books and got on the bus without saying another word to the Dursleys. The bus ride to school was rather painful; every time the bus would go over a pothole or bump in the road, Harry's stomach would jerk like something was punching him from the inside.

At school, Harry didn't have any friends. Either kids were afraid to approach Harry because they knew that he was well hated by Dudley and his gang, and nobody questioned Dudley and his gang, or they thought that he was weird because at times Harry could do special tricks. He could swing across the jungle gym as though a cloud were floating beneath him, carrying him all the way, he could sometimes make rubbers and other little things disappear when he was angry and he could do some really special stuff with flowers if he was really happy, which was rare. Harry thought it was something about him that was cool, like the lightning shaped scar on his forehead, which would make the other children like him. But he was wrong. In fact, they often laughed at him for both the special tricks and the scar.

In class, Harry could barely pay attention, let alone keep his eyes open because he was so tired. During the history lesson, Harry actually fell asleep, which angered the professor. After Hayley, the teacher's pet and class tattletale, told on him, the teacher grabbed one of the largest textbooks in the classroom and slammed it on Harry's desk as hard as she could, causing Harry to snap his head up from the desk and almost break his neck in half. The class roared with laughter.

"Pay attention, Mr. Potter." she said in her raspy voice.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Forrester," said Harry politely, gathering his books off the ground. "It's just, I—"

"I am in no mood for excuses!" she exclaimed. Harry closed his mouth, vowing in his head that he would keep it closed. He was tired of being cut off then shut down.

Finally it was recess time, and as the other students tucked into their lunches in the cafeteria, Harry went outside alone and sat on the bench out far where no one else dared to bother him. The wind blew in his face and the darker clouds drew closer.

'_If you're going to be sick then it might as well be now because no one can see you and no one's going to haul you off to the nurse and then you won't get in trouble.' _Harry thought. He let the illness overcome him and immediately felt nauseous again. Harry went behind the park bench, kneeled down, wrapped his arms around his stomach and waited. Though he felt sickeningly nauseous, he still didn't throw up. Reluctantly he took a deep breath dusted himself off, sat back on the park bench and used the wind as a factor to find peace again.

The students one by one began to come out from the cafeteria and run around and play games. Dudley and his posse, Piers, Dennis, Malcolm and Gordon came up to the bench where Harry was sitting chortling and laughing like village idiots.

"Hey guys, ready to teach my cousin a lesson?" he asked them and they chortled and laughed even more. Perhaps it was because he was really dumb, but Dudley thought he was mentally superior to the rest of the world and needed to spread his knowledge to everyone else by way of violence. Harry was his favourite student.

"Dudley, if you're not going to help me, could you just stay away from me then? I have enough problems without you, trust me."

"I was telling my mates about your… little joke on Saturday," Dudley said ignoring Harry, "And we agreed that you would learn the lesson that you're not funny best from all of us." They clasped their fists into their palms.

"Do what you want." said Harry closing his eyes in preparation for what was about to occur, "I've got nothing more to lose."

But Harry was very wrong. Dudley wasn't very strong on his own but with the help of his friends he was rather powerful. They swarmed on him like a pack of wolves on fresh meat and kicked him in the spine and stomach until their legs were tired. Then they laughed as they watched Harry attempt to find his glasses in the dirt and ran away from the scene of the crime before they could be convicted. It was occasions like these that made Harry create his imaginary mother and father in the first place, and now more than ever he really wanted them back.


	5. Chapter 5

The bus ride home was just as miserable, if not more, than the morning ride for Harry. It was very noisy, because everyone was awake now, and every sound was two hundred times louder to Harry because of his migraine. He was dreading going home because he was scared that Uncle Vernon was going to get him sooner or later. Harry, personally, hoped it was later.

The bus stopped and Harry, Dudley and Dudley's friends got off. Moving as quickly as he could, Harry entered Number Four Privet Drive, stored his jacket in the closet and went to his room, the only place in the whole house that truly felt like his home.

However his condition did not improve. He secretly left his room four times within the hour for the bathroom. The fifth time, as he passed the kitchen to return to his bedroom, Aunt Petunia spotted him and stopped him.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"I'm going to my bedroom." Harry answered. Aunt Petunia pursed her lips in a way gave Harry the impression that this was the wrong answer.

"What _were _you doing?" she asked again. "Oh, I was… in the bathroom. I thought I was going to be sick."

"I see. So that means this is never going to end doesn't it?"

This made Harry angry. He wanted to yell something like, "There is nothing to end! If you would just get your pointy nose out of the clouds once in a while, maybe you'd notice just how crummy I look and feel!" right in Aunt Petunia's face but he didn't. He simply stood there.

"Well then it's settled. If you really are 'sick' then I'm going to treat you that way. I don't want Dudley to catch whatever you have. Go to the park or find something to do outdoors until Vernon or I come and get you. Just stay away from here."

"But Aunt Petunia that's not—"

"End of discussion!" she said shaking her skinny pointer finger in Harry's face. "Go! Now!"

_So much for promising not to speak anymore…_

Harry sighed, put on his coat and went outside as instructed. Aunt Petunia slammed the door behind him. "All right, Harry. Don't cry." He said aloud, stepping of the stoop and into the street, "I mean after all, this could be positive. At least you don't h-have to b-be in the s-same house as D-Dudley…"

He travelled down the street until he arrived at the park on the end of the block. Then he climbed up to the tree house on the playground which was his favourite place to relax, to hide away from Dudley (Dudley was too large to fit through the entrance hole), and to have long conversations with his imaginary parents.

He thought of his parents, how he was never going to see them again and how he was all alone and felt a really empty, cold feeling inside. Sitting on the edge of the tree house Harry looked out at the view of the park, houses of Privet Drive (which all looked the same exteriorly) and the wheat fields that surrounded their neighbourhood. He saw a very cute couple with their son, who was at least two years old, walking through the park. The couple was holding hands with the little boy, his mother holding his left hand and his father holding his right, and swinging him back and forth as the child cackled with innocent laughter.

Harry sat and watched for a couple of hours, jealousy burning painfully in his heart, but it was the only thing he could think of doing. He felt so trapped, even his imagination couldn't help him anymore. He was exhausted and starving, he had the stomach virus from hell and nobody believed him and he more than wished he could have a nice easy life like that little boy. He wondered what the Dursleys treated him like when he was that young.

"Why me? What did I do to deserve this?" Harry asked aloud. The wind blew his hair as though it was trying to give him an answer. "Dudley gets two parents and their undivided attention, spoiled rotten and lots of friends and he's mean to just about everyone he encounters." Harry swallowed very hard trying to get rid of the knot growing in his throat. "It's just not fair."

He laid his head on the side of the tree house. The nails were icy cold and felt good upon his feverish temples. The little boy he was watching, who had been running around the playground, tripped on a rock, fell and bumped his knee, and had started to cry. His parents came rushing to his side and showered him with a thousand kisses.

_I need a thousand kisses_, thought Harry, pulling his knees closer to his body for warmth. _If only someone would come and hold me for a minute, I bet I would feel loads better._

_But no one's going to hold me, _he thought more realistically, _not even for a second. Nobody loves me…_

Harry began to cry. He tried so hard not to, but he couldn't help it. He felt so alone; nobody would help because nobody really cared what happened to him. He felt like he was dying and not one person, of the hundreds he knew wanted to save him.

He tried to stop crying, because it only made him feel worse, but the tears continued to fall nonetheless. As he continued to think, he felt worse and worse. He just needed someone to protect him, from himself and the world. _Maybe, _he thought, a flicker of hope in his heart refusing to give up,_ I can go ask those two lovely people for help. They seem like great parents. Or I could go door to door in my neighborhood begging people for help. There's got to be someone decent around here that'll help me._

_No, you couldn't_, thought another voice in Harry's head,_ whoever else might try and help you could take you away from the Dursleys forever. _

_But I really need a thousand kisses…_

_And nobody's going to give them to you, _said a cold and scary voice in his head, _you're parents are dead. And so are your thousand kisses…_

Harry was now crying so hard, he could not answer if someone were to ask him why he was sitting up there alone and crying. _Maybe a thousand is t-too much to ask, _said the tiny hopeful voice,_ One should be enough. One sincere kiss packed with love should do…_

"I know," Harry said aloud, "N-n-nobody's g-g-going to g-g-give m-me anything…"

It was becoming very cold outside, and Harry, who was already shivering with sickness, and shuddering with sobs, began to shake even harder. The couple continued walking, swinging their son again, towards the exit gate to the park. It was far too cold outside to play. Harry had missed his chance.

Just when Harry thought nothing and nobody could help him, all of a sudden, there was a voice from behind him. "I think it's about to rain," it said, "you should really go home."

Harry wiped his eyes violently, turned around and was surprised to see Samantha Kinney, her face calm and understanding. It was slightly amusing to Harry that she could fit in the tree house, (that was built for small children, Samantha was at least fourteen.) while Dudley couldn't.

She sat down next to him, and Harry turned his head away from her. "Hi." she whispered.

"Hi."

"Er… How are you feeling?"

"I'm well, thank you." Harry lied nodding politely toward her, then turning back to continue to watch the swinging child. They both sat in silence.

"Harry, I can't speak for my parents but I don't blame you for what happened on Saturday night at all. I understand that kids get sick. Everyone gets sick. It happened to me once when my parents took me to a meeting and… are you all right?"

"I'm fine. You were saying?" Harry chanced a look at her and smiled faintly, thinking Samantha would accept his answer and continue her story.

However she did the complete opposite, and noticed when he looked at her, that his eyes were puffy and red.

"Have you been crying?" she asked, looking very taken aback.

"No... no I haven't," said Harry rubbing his eyes even more, "It's allergies... I have terrible allergies..."

"What happened here?" she asked, noticing the bruise on Harry's face and running her warm and soft fingers gently over it.

"Nothing. I just…fell off the ladder as I was trying to get up here. I hit my head on a rock, I think. But anyway, you were telling me about a meeting…when you were a child. "

"Is someone beating you Harry? Are you hiding from someone who's trying to hurt you?"

"No! There isn't and I'm not!" Harry said loudly, "There is nothing wrong. Please, stop asking me questions and let's talk about something else."

Samantha gave Harry a look of disbelief. "So… What brings you here?" Harry asked more calmly.

Samantha, seeing that this conversation clearly wasn't going her way, reluctantly participated. "Well, my parents went to a ball in Bristol and I was supposed to go to my aunt's house but I didn't, and I'm here alone so I decided to go for a walk. That's when I overheard you and I came up to tell you that it's going to rain." She looked at Harry with sudden shock on her face. Not only was Harry crying again but he had his arms wrapped tightly around his midsection. His stomach was cramping badly and his ribs felt very sore from all of the intense heaving. The pain was indescribable.

"Harry…?"

"I really have to go. It was nice seeing you again… goodbye." Harry got up to cross the tree house and leave via the ladder, but Samantha saw right through him yet again. She grabbed his wrist and Harry turned around.

"You're still sick aren't you?" she asked caringly. Harry was just about to lie to her again, when her eyes caught his. There was something addicting about them, her eyes, it was like they were sending some sort of hypnotizing message to him. Harry found it very difficult to believe that this girl, whom he had only met Saturday, finally realised that Harry was very ill.

"Yes," Harry said almost involuntarily, "I'm sick and tired and hungry and… and nobody seems to… to…" Harry broke down in tears again and this time something wonderful happened to him. As Harry buried his face in his hands, Samantha Kinney wrapped her arms around him in a warm and caring hug.

"It's okay, it's all right. I'm going to help you now, don't worry." she whispered to him. Harry had never been hugged before and if he had, he was too young to remember it, but it felt wonderful. One arm was wrapped completely around him; the other hand was in Harry's hair, her gentle fingers running through it as she continued to whisper "Shh…" in his ear.

She pulled herself slowly away from Harry. "Come to my house. My parents aren't home and I can take care of you there." Harry nodded and allowed Samantha to pick him up and carry him out of the tree house, down the block past the Dursleys and into her home.


	6. Chapter 6

The Kinney residence was warm and smelled lovely. When Samantha turned on the light, he saw that it was much different than any other house he'd been to on Privet Drive. It seemed abnormally large though, unlike all the others on Privet Drive, it only contained one floor. Samantha led him to the living room where she grabbed a blanket from the nearby linen closet and after handing it to Harry began to assemble the sleeper sofa.

She finished pulling up the blankets dusted off her hands satisfactorily and turned to Harry. "There. You can get in it now."

Harry kicked off his shoes and climbed into the bed and Samantha pulled the comforters up to his chin. "Comfortable?" she asked. Harry nodded. "Good. The bathroom is past the kitchen down the hall and to your left if you need it. I'll be in the kitchen making you something to eat. I'll be right back. You try and relax okay?"

_Easy for you to say,_ Harry thought, and Samantha disappeared through the swinging door that leads to the kitchen. Harry was alone in the living room despite the fact that he didn't feel that way in the cosy and comfortable bed. His whole body was aching but the softness of the mattress soothed it to a great extent.

'_Try and relax, okay?'_ He tried to obey Samantha but he was simply too sick. He climbed out of the bed and rushed to the bathroom but stopped when he reached the frame of the door. _You don't have to do this, _he thought, _It would be entirely too embarrassing. Nothing is going to happen anyway. Just go back to bed. _Harry hesitated for a second then turned on his heel and began walking back to the bed.

He stopped at the kitchen and slowly opened the door, curious as to what Samantha was up to. She was standing at the stove, stirring something and dancing to music in her own head when the phone rang and she picked it up.

"Kinney residence." she said sweetly. "Oh hi Jackie… uh huh… Oh my gosh, no way! Jesse Collins is coming to your house? I am so there… Wait I can't. I have to babysit for my stupid neighbour…Yeah I know it's a total bummer…" Harry backed out of the kitchen. He didn't want to hear anymore, he couldn't handle it. He went back to the bed and got ready to leave.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Samantha was still on the phone. "Okay, I'll talk to you later…Goodbye Jackie." She slammed the phone back on the receiver. "O-M-G I _so_ don't care." She said in a mock voice, rolling her eyes and turning back to the soup.

"Almost done," she said to herself, putting the wooden spoon down on the counter. "I should check on Harry." She turned down the fire and went through the swinging door, entering the living room just as Harry was zipping up his coat.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm leaving. Samantha, I lied to you."

"About what?" Samantha asked, clearly very befuddled by Harry's sudden change of mind.

"About everything. I'm not sick and I never was. It was all part of an act to get attention from you because Dudley bet me that I could never get you to like me, only because he thinks you're very pretty." Samantha blushed but still kept her expression serious. "I thought I definitely won by coming here, until I overheard you on the phone with your friend saying that you couldn't go out because you were stuck here with me. I thought it would be really unfair to keep you here for no good reason, so I'm leaving."

"Well that's very . . . kind of you." Samantha looked very disappointed.

"I'm sorry." Harry said opening the door.

"It's… it's all right. Have a good night."

"Same to you." said Harry as he stepped out into the cold drizzle. He walked down the street in the opposite direction of the park and of his Aunt and Uncle's house. It was getting chillier and the rain was falling faster. Harry walked slowly, pausing from time to time to look over his shoulder and see if Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon would come outside and call him in from the rain. But the door to Number Four, Privet Drive remained shut and the curtains too.

Harry walked far down the street, until his house was out of view, and then began talking to himself. "Why do I keep trying? Why did I think, even for a moment that she was going to help me? I mean, she's just a kid too." Harry's stomach cramped a little but he ignored it. "But why would she do that to me? What was she going to do to me? What would've happened if I stayed?" His stomach churned dangerously but again Harry ignored it. "In the movies, when the superhero gets picked on as a kid, it makes him strong and tough. But not me, I'll always be a wimpy, small cry baby." Again his stomach ached, this time it was enough for Harry to put his hand on it. "I guess it's because I keep thinking that if I don't give up hope maybe something good will happen to me someday. Like maybe someone will stand up to Dudley and his stupid gang and try to be my friend, or maybe my parents will c-come back to life?"

Suddenly Harry was very angry. "Who am I kidding? That's never going to happen and I know that. How do I even know if my parents were good people anyway? Good parents don't leave their kids alone in the world with no one decent to take care of them." He kicked a rock in the street as hard as he could. "I hate my parents! If they're out there and they can hear me, then I want them to know that I hate them—"

Harry stomach cramped so hard he felt like it was shrinking and Harry, who was walking very quickly, and fell face first into the street because of the pain. He could feel the side of his face his hands and both of his knees burning from exposure to the cold dirty rain. His glasses went flying down the street.

Harry lay there for a few minutes, the pain in his stomach was getting stronger and he probably couldn't move even if he wanted to. But Harry didn't want to. Right then he wanted to die, to disappear from the face of the earth and never come back.

"Good thing your story didn't make any sense," said a familiar voice that Harry was almost too grateful to hear. He gathered all of the strength left in him and sat up to look at Samantha. He could barely see her without his glasses, but by the fact that the streetlight was reflecting off of her making her look like she was glowing, Harry could tell that she was soaking wet, like him.

"How so?"

"Well," she said coming closer to him, "If you aren't sick then how did you get your face to turn that terrible colour that's somewhere between green, red and extremely pale?"

"It's… makeup." Harry lied.

"If you aren't sick, then explain to me why you are running such a high fever."

"My bedroom is next to the boiler room in my house… I'm naturally warm."

"If you were never sick, explain how you threw up and then passed out cold in the restaurant."

"I'm a very good actor."

"Even great actors can't create vomit that isn't there.

"Yeah they can!" Harry argued. "Sometimes Dudley does, when he doesn't get what he wants!"

"But you're not Dudley!" cried Samantha, "And I don't believe that you're healthy Harry! I don't believe it at all!"

Harry's stomach ached when Samantha yelled at him. "And you shouldn't," he said more quietly, through gritted teeth. "You shouldn't because it's not true. When I was walking back from the bathroom I overheard you on the phone with your friend. You were telling her how you couldn't go to her house because you were stuck babysitting your stupid neighbour. I felt like an idiot for thinking that you could help me when you're no more of a kid than me and… that no one in the world could possibly care about me. It must be a… a law or something…"

Samantha held out her hand and Harry hesitated. He didn't want to trust her and be disappointed again. But now he truly had nothing more to lose. He grabbed her hand and held tight as she helped him off the ground.

"I'll explain everything when we get back to my house. I promise." Harry followed her further down the street about three feet to get his glasses and after handing them to him; she picked him up and carried him back up the street towards her house.

While walking in silence, Harry created an elaborate idea in his head about how Samantha would tell him that she was a spy, and everything he heard was a secret message to her handler and that she didn't mean any of it. It was crazy, but it was the only idea he could come up with that ended with him forgiving her.


	7. Chapter 7

_Author's Note: I apologise that this took so long, but as you can see it's a very LONG chapter. But I hope you enjoy it and please review!! =)_

* * *

Samantha shuffled inside the house with Harry in her arms, and pulled the key out of the keyhole before shutting the door. The sleeper sofa was still open and the sheets were pulled up neatly as though they had never been touched. Once she put him down, Samantha disappeared down the hallway and reappeared seconds later unwrapping one of two packages printed '**HAPPY CHRISTMAS!' **on each side.

"These are Christmas presents that my parents were going to give to my cousin but, being that he lives very far away they were unaware that he outgrew this size ages ago. Coincidentally, they just might fit you. Go change in the bathroom before you catch pneumonia on top of whatever else you have, and then we'll talk okay? There are towels in the closet on the left if you need them to dry off."

She handed him the packages, one with the wrapping paper and one without then said, "This one isn't unwrapped in case … er I dunno… you're angry and you need to take it out on something. I always enjoyed ripping packages open I suppose." With a smile toward Harry, she left the foyer, went into her own bedroom and shut the door gently behind her.

Harry went to the bathroom and shut the door behind him as well. He was freezing, dripping wet and eager to change out of his clothes. He ripped open the package; Harry never really opened a present before but now he knew why Dudley found it so entertaining. One contained footie pyjamas which after drying off, Harry tried on and was happy to see were a perfect fit. The other contained a red polo shirt, in Harry's size and a pair of blue jeans, in Harry's size also.

He stored his newly acquired clothing back in the boxes and climbed up to the sink to wash up. Since this morning, Harry's face and ears had gone almost twice as red and not only did he have a bruise where Dudley had punched him, he now had scratches all down his cheek and hands from falling on the concrete.

Harry thought about the Dursleys. They would be furious to find out that he was here, in the Kinney house, spreading his 'search for attention act' to the neighbours. But if Samantha had never shown up, Harry might still be locked out of his own house, probably waiting in the tree house, cold and wet, and he could have been kidnapped or beaten up and the Dursleys wouldn't have even noticed. Anger rose up inside Harry like boiling lava as when he considered this. As the anger got stronger, Harry's stomach clenched tighter. He averted his attention toward washing his face and hands.

The soap burned his scratches and Harry quickly rinsed off. Then, after drying his hair to his best ability with the towel, he left the bathroom taking the boxes along with him.

Samantha was in the living room dressed in a sweatshirt and pyjama pants, with her dark wet hair up in a messy bun. She was on the telephone again, but this time she was impersonating an old woman who sounded very much to Harry like Mrs. Figg. He was puzzled. She saw him and gestured for him to come join her on the bed.

"I understand that education is an important factor here Mr. Dursley, but I threw out my back real bad yesterday and I simply can't clean up all of these litter boxes by myself. When young Harry here passed by my house, I got the most wonderful idea. With your permission of course, I thought he could help me with all of my housework. The only drawback is that it might take the rest of today and maybe even all of tomorrow because we have a lot of work to do… Well I didn't quite ask if he seemed interested. Would you like me to? No? All right then… Oh thank you Mr. Dursley! You take care now. Good bye."

She hung up the telephone and threw it on the nearby couch. "As I said before, my parents are going to be out of town until Wednesday afternoon and I'm supposed to be staying at my aunt's in London until then, so you can stay here for a while, until you feel better."

Harry looked up at Samantha to acknowledge that he heard her then went back to staring at his lap shyly. Samantha had almost forgotten that Harry was angry with her. "Harry, when you overheard me in the kitchen earlier, I was on the phone with a girl from my school, called Jackie, who annoys me to death. She only understands popular speak, where everything is 'stupid' or 'gay' even if it really isn't. Actually, after I hung up the phone I mocked her, saying that I don't care and I meant that. She keeps forgetting that _she's_ the one with the crush on Jesse Collins, not me." laughed Samantha.

Harry still looked upset. "I'm sorry for hurting you. I truly am. If you can forgive me, I'm sure I can be a big help. First, because I'm sixteen years old and very far from being… what was it that you called me…? Oh yes, 'no more of a kid than you.' Second, my parents are both doctors. My mum's a paediatrician and my dad is a mental therapist so I've learned a lot from them. Lastly," She turned Harry's wandering head with her first two fingers so that their eyes met. "It's not illegal for someone to care about you, Harry. And if it is, then I'm going to jail."

Everything in Harry wanted to believe her but he just couldn't. How could she be telling the truth? She didn't even know him well. And Harry was afraid of getting hurt. He didn't think he could handle it. _Give it a try Harry. What other choice do you have?_ said the little hopeful voice.

"Thank you." he said aloud after thinking for a while.

"No problem. So what's the damage?"

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, what's hurting you love?"

"Oh… well… everything."

Samantha smiled. "I need to know exactly what's wrong with you in order to help you feel better Harry."

Harry felt uncomfortable. "It's a long list…" Samantha said nothing. She just stared at him, silently urging him to get on with it. "Er… well my head hurts."

Samantha continued to stare at him the same way. "Okay, that's a start. Please continue."

"I'm tired and hungry… but I feel nauseous at the same time, if that's possible… I'm covered in bruises… and my stomach hurts something awful...I think that's it."

"Blimey," Samantha said, "You have a lot of problems. You must be very stressed you poor thing."

"I'm not stressed." Harry said angrily. He didn't quite know what stressed meant but he hated when people questioned his ability to be independent.

"Okay, if you say so Harry." Samantha said passively, leaving the living room again. It was obvious to Harry that she didn't believe him. "Have you been sick at all?" she asked when she returned with an armful of junk from the bathroom.

"Not since the restaurant, but I've felt so nauseous that I tried but I end up gagging until I can't breathe. It's the worst feeling."

"I know," she said now spreading the contents all over the bed. There was a box of bandages, a container of rubbing alcohol, a large medical book and assorted medicines, all for children. "Dry heaves can be very debilitating and painful."

"Dry what?"

"Heaves." answered Samantha, patiently, "That's when your body is trying to vomit, but there's nothing to expel."

"Oh..."

"What about the stomach pain? Is it stabbing or achy?"

"Achy and it really, really hurts. It feels like someone's punching me hard from the inside."

"I see. Unzip your pyjamas Harry. I want to sterilize those boo boos before they get infected. "

Harry obeyed her. He didn't mind her seeing him in his undergarments. Sometimes when Uncle Vernon was aggravated with Harry, he would make him stand outside in all sorts of stages of dress.

"I called your uncle, by the way. I asked him if it would be all right if you stayed with Mrs. Figg and helped her with some housework. He agreed, he said something like it was a good punishment for what you did to them on Saturday and— oh my goodness!" Samantha loosened the cap of the rubbing alcohol but stopped at the sight of all the bruises Harry acquired when he was beaten up by Dudley's gang in school.

"All of this from falling?" she asked dumbfounded.

"Erm… yes. I'm very clumsy."

"Oh dear, I don't think I've met anyone who bruises as badly as you do. Does it hurt?"

"Not so much anymore."

"Dear me! At least it feels better now though. Turn your hands up please. This might burn just a little." Harry was relieved that Samantha stopped asking questions and went back to caring for his "boo boos." She took the saturated cotton balls and gently rubbed it over his cheeks, palms, elbows, stomach and finally his knees.

"Don't worry if it bubbles a little bit. It just means that the disinfectant is fighting the germs and winning." Samantha reassured him. Harry watched as the tiny white bubbles rose and fell. Samantha closed the cap on the bottle. Then she put bandages on Harry's knees and elbows and zipped him back up.

"There," she said opening her mother's medical book and flipping through the pages. "Just to make sure…" Harry watched her flip the pages to the S section. "Aha! It's an ailment called _Salmonella coli. __Symptoms including nausea, vomiting, fainting spells, high fever, headaches, diarrhoea and stomach cramps. _So basically it's a terrible tummy bug._" _

"But I… I don't…"

"Perhaps not yet. It might turn up later. Don't worry about it though," She added at the sight of Harry's terrified face. "Sometimes you only have six out of seven. And six out of seven isn't bad. Actually I'd rather have six out of seven if it were me. But this is the illness that describes you best isn't it?"

"I… guess so…"

"Then there you have it." She looked back at the book. "_Often caused by human contact or food poisoning._"

"Food poisoning?" Harry asked. Did someone do this to him on purpose? There were so many people who didn't like him.

"Yes, food poisoning." said Samantha unconcernedly, "Undercooked meat, or someone forgot to wash their hands or coughed on your food…" Harry looked disgusted. "I can see I'm not persuading you to go to medical school am I?" Harry shook his head and Samantha giggled. "I figured. But there's a possibility that you caught it from someone around you. Do you know anybody else that was sick? Maybe someone in your family?"

"Nobody in my family, but the kid who sits next to me in school was absent for a couple of days last week."

"See? Then it wasn't food poisoning. Bet that makes you happy." Now Harry smiled.

"Well that's enough of this." Samantha said closing the book. "I'm going back to the kitchen to reheat your soup and finish making your dinner. After you eat you'll take some medicine and try to get some sleep. Sounds good?"

"Yes." said Harry.

"Good. Would you like to come to the kitchen with me this time?" Harry nodded and climbed out of bed. He followed Samantha to the kitchen and climbed up the stool while she turned on the stove.

After a while of silence, Harry said, "Wh-What are you making?"

"I'm making nice warm ginger tea because ginger will soothe your stomach, toasted rolls because they will make you feel less nauseous and special soup because it's a common sick person food."

"Th-th-that sounds g-g-good." Harry shivered.

Samantha stopped stirring and turned on her heel. "Are you cold?"

"Yeah… b-but it's okay. I d-don't want to be a burden."

"Don't want to be a…that's insane!" she dropped the wooden spoon in the pot and stormed out of the kitchen returning with a soft blanket in her hand that had a cord attached to it. Then she picked Harry up, wrapped him in the blanket and plugged the cord into the wall. Harry immediately felt the warmth touch his body and he sighed in relaxation.

"Better?"

"Much, thank you."

"You're welcome. That's sort of what I'm here for. If you ever need anything else please let me know. I want to help you Harry but you have to help me do that okay?" And with an affectionate squeeze of Harry's shoulder she went back to making dinner for him.

It took her a good ten minutes. When she finished she carried the tray into the living room and Harry toddled behind her pulling the blanket right out of the socket. She put the tray on the coffee table, helped Harry back into the bed and placed the tray over his knees.

"Tuck in!" she said clapping her hands happily together. Harry stared first at the food then back at Samantha. The food smelled delicious and he was starving and as much as Harry wanted to eat he knew he couldn't. He knew that if he ate then he might throw up for real and Harry was in no mood for embarrassment.

"Actually, I'm not very hungry." Harry said pushing the tray away from him. Samantha's happy expression faded and a new sympathetic one took its place.

"What do you mean you're not hungry? Not too long ago you said you were starving!" Harry didn't answer. He looked quite ashamed with himself. "Is there something wrong Harry?"

"No, everything's fine. I'm just more tired…I guess. I just want to go to sleep." Harry lied, sinking lower and lower in the bed. It hurt Harry to lie to Samantha, especially when she was trying so hard to help him, but he felt he needed to be careful. If Samantha got to know the real Harry, she'd treat him differently; maybe even stop taking care of him. After all, nobody who knew him had liked him so far. Even people he didn't know didn't like him. Thus, Harry had to do everything in his power to maintain his current relationship with her.

"Okay, if you're sure." She looked very disappointed. Nevertheless, she removed the tray and tucked Harry into bed. "I'll put your food in the oven on warm so you can have it whenever you're ready. Please try and get some sleep. I'll be in my bedroom down the hall if you need me."She ran her fingers through his hair and smiled down at him. "Good night and feel better."

"'Night." whispered Harry and she dimmed the lights and left the room. Harry closed his eyes and almost immediately fell asleep.

It wasn't long until Harry fell into another terrible nightmare. At first, he dreamed that his parents were with him, perfectly alive and walking through the park. They were holding his hands and swinging him back and forth, similar to the boy Harry saw from the tree house. They were talking to each other, though Harry couldn't understand them, but he didn't care. They were happy and he was happy and he felt loved and protected and that was all that mattered to him.

"I love you mum and dad," Harry said looking up at his parents who stopped talking to each other to listen to him. "I love you more than anything in the entire wo—"

Suddenly there were gunshots, four of them and Harry ducked down. When he was sure the shooting was over he straightened up again. "Mum? Dad? Are you okay? I'm really scared. " Harry called out but received no answer. "Where are you?" he yelled but again received no answer. He looked down at his feet and lying there next to him were his parents, spread eagled and dead. Harry couldn't breathe. He was filled with sadness and grief but also anger and rage all at the same time. He ran down the street as fast as he could in the direction of the shooter.

He couldn't make out his face because he had his hood up but to Harry he looked like some sort of black ghost. The thing that scared him the most was that he was wearing a bright green cloak that flashed before Harry's eyes before he disappeared into thin air. "Stop! Who are you? Why did you kill my parents? Why do you want to ruin my life?" Harry screamed into the nothingness and as soon as he finished his sentence, everything around him began to melt into a red liquid. Was it blood? Was he dying? Harry was more scared than ever. He tried to scream but all that came out was an evil manic laugh that sounded like the ones he heard in horror movies.

He looked down at his parents. They were melting too. He felt alone and vulnerable. Then Harry's own hands began to melt. There was no one there to protect him, no one to help him…

Harry woke up with a start, his heat beating out of his chest and unable to breathe. He was screaming and crying until he remembered that he wasn't in his own house and was forced to contain himself. The clock on the mantle read that Harry had only been asleep for a mere thirty minutes.

He lay back down slowly. He was still terrified and didn't want to be alone anymore. He considered going to Samantha's room in his head. _Leave her alone, _said the negative but realistic voice, _She's not your mother, Harry. Though she may pretend that it's okay to wake her up this late at night she definitely won't be happy._

As much as Harry hated it, he was right. Being that he was much too scared to lose her, as she was the only hope he had left, he stayed right where he was alone, shaking and crying in pain. However it wasn't long before Samantha showed up in the frame of the door. Her hair was messy and she looked tired.

"Harry?"

Harry wiped his eyes as thoroughly as he could before turning around. "Yes?"

"Are you all right? I heard you crying and I came as fast as I could. What's wrong? Did you have a bad dream?"

Harry shuddered and was vividly reminded of what his mother had told him two nights ago. He didn't answer her. Samantha sat on the edge of the bed and put her hand on his arm. "I'm fine." he said snatching his arm away, "Don't worry. I just… worked myself up in my sleep that's all. Nothing to worry about. You can go back to sleep now." said Harry so quickly that Samantha almost couldn't understand him. It was very obvious that he was hiding something from her.

"Harry dear, you look worse than ever. Please tell me what's bothering you. Was it something in your dream?"

"No. There's nothing. I just want to go back to sleep." Harry turned back around.

Samantha narrowed her eyes angrily. She grabbed his shoulder and turned him back around. "You are being very difficult. First you tell me lies, then you tell me the truth, then more lies, then the truth, and frankly we're back to lying again!" Samantha's voice became louder and louder. "I can't take it! You've got to make up your mind! If you want my help, then you will tell me the truth about everything, and I mean everything Harry! When you can't sleep, when you feel nauseous, when you're hungry or cold and absolutely when something is upsetting you! If you can't do that, then you might as well leave because if you can't do something as simple as trust me, then I can't do much for you. Go back to your aunt and uncle's house and be punished for no good reason. Hey, why don't you add to their anger by showing up on their doorstep at. . . eleven-fifteen at night, with a bogus story about how you were never at Mrs. Figg's house—"

"St-stop it! You're s-scaring me!"

"I'M NOT TRYING TO SCARE YOU HARRY!" Samantha argued so loudly the veins in her neck were showing, "I'M SIMPLY TELLING YOU THE TRUTH!"

"Well I don't like the truth! It scares me! You're s-scaring…" Harry doubled over in the bed. It took Samantha a while to calm down and notice that Harry was suffering.

"Oh! Harry!" She took his arm and the lower half of his body and slowly unfolded him. Then, resting his head back on the pillow, she encouraged him to take deep breaths and surely but temporarily the pain in Harry's stomach seceded.

"I'm sorry for making you mad," Harry apologised when he was able to speak again. "In fact, I was trying to do the opposite. That's part of the reason I keep lying to you. I'm really sorry."

Samantha took Harry's cold hands into her soft and warm ones and, much to his satisfaction changed her voice back to that honeysweet tone he was used to. "Don't be. It was entirely my fault. I lost my temper. I grew up in a house with a mental therapist. We always share our feelings here. It was inconsiderate of me to assume that you were raised that way too. And if I hadn't forgotten that you were so stressed I would never have yelled at you like that."

"I'm not stressed!" Harry said more angrily than the first time.

"Yes you are Harry. But that's not important right now. What _is _important is that I find out what's preventing you from sleeping because you are very exhausted."

She was right about that, Harry was very exhausted and wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and fall asleep for a full and satisfying eight hours.

"Why Harry?"

"Why what?"

"Think hard and try to remember why you can't sleep, or why you wake up in the middle of the night."

"For loads of reasons," said Harry, "Once I woke up because I was really hungry. I also woke up when I felt like I was going to be sick and once… when…"

"What is it?" Samantha asked. Harry swallowed hard, as though he was about to conquer a great fear.

"I… I've been having nightmares. Terrible, disturbing, scary nightmares, like horror movies. And they've been keeping me awake at night."

"Goodness! Is it all they same dream or are they different?"

"Each one is different, but they're about the same thing." There was a short stiff silence between them.

"Do you want to tell me… what they're about? Maybe I can help you."

"I dunno… it's kind of embarrassing."

"If it's really bothering you then it shouldn't be embarrassing and I won't laugh. You have my word."

"It's… it's my parents… not because I miss them … I mean I do, I think… it's complicated really. . . "

"I'm listening," said Samantha who was now staring at Harry intently. "I'll try hard to understand."

Harry sighed. "I don't know much about how my parents died. My aunt and uncle told me they died in a car crash five years ago but… the way they said it… it didn't sound like the truth to me. I was there, but I was only one and I can't remember. If I try really hard sometimes I think I can remember a flash of green. But it's killing me Samantha because my mind keeps trying to fill in the blanks and I keep thinking about what could've really happened and then I see it in my dreams and they scare me. Just now, I dreamed that I was walking with them and we were all happy and then, when I was about to tell them how much I loved them… they were shot and I tried to stop the man who did it but before I could he disappeared and then I started drowning…" Harry stopped himself before he started to cry. He felt fragile and afraid.

"Why… Why that's not embarrassing at all! In fact it's rather serious! Why on earth would you have such horrible dreams at such a young age?"

"My room is close to the living room. On horror movie night, I sometimes overhear the movies they watch, and then sometimes I have nightmares about them."

"Have you talked to anyone about it? Your aunt or uncle? Maybe they could move your room for you."

"I d-don't have anyone…"

Samantha looked at Harry, very confused. "What do you mean Harry?"

"Will you promise me that everything that I tell you, you'll keep a secret?" asked Harry, nervously wringing his hands in his lap.

"Sure, of course…I mean not unless you tell me you're going to hurt yourself or hurt someone else. It's illegal for me to keep that a secret, you know."

"No I'm not going to hurt anyone. But… the reason why I came to you in such a terrible state is not just because my aunt and uncle are punishing me for no good reason, even though that's part of it, the thing is… I'm always like this when I get sick. My aunt and uncle, they don't love me, they—"

"Don't say that Harry. Just because they punished you unrightfully once doesn't mean they don't love you. People make mistakes."

"You don't understand Samantha! My mother must have done something to my aunt to upset her, or to anger her. She hates me, they all hate me. I know it—"

"Harry, you just feel angry and frustrated because your illness went uncared for. It's okay now, I'm taking care of you. I'm sure these feelings will pass by morning okay?"

"No! It's not okay!" Harry shouted, on the verge of tears, "You're not listening to me! You're j-just like th-them! You're j-just…" Harry buried his face in his hands and began to cry.

Samantha comforted him at once. She immediately felt sorry for him, and realized that she hadn't let him finish a sentence yet. "Calm down Harry, I need you to calm down." Harry did as Samantha asked and brought his temper back down to normal. "I understand that you must feel very frustrated and even angry at your aunt and uncle right now but I want you to think of all the happy things they've done with you and the wonderful things they've done for you before you say something like that."

"Samantha, there were no happy times. Most of the time they keep me locked up in my room, which is a scary, dark, cold cupboard under the stairs. I've never been to an amusement park or to a birthday party and Saturday was the first time I've been to a restaurant and I ruined it. I've never had a birthday card or a decent birthday present or a birthday party. I've never been hugged until today, or kissed, or cuddled with or had someone read me a bedtime story or sing me to sleep or… tell me they loved me. My real family, and any chance of any of those things ever happening to me, or of me ever being happy again, died in that car crash with my parents. And I-I always ask m-myself w-why I couldn't have g-gone with th-them…" Tears were falling fast from Harry's eyes and he wiped them with the bed clothes.

"Come here, you poor thing," Samantha pulled Harry closer to her and let him rest his head on her shoulder. "You're going to make me cry now." She looked down at Harry. "I never thought… When I met them they seemed like such nice people."

"They were trying to impress your parents. They wanted the rewards of being friends with the rich neighbours."

"That's terrible Harry! I can't believe it! Never had a hug or a kiss or a birthday present? How did you survive?"

"I… I kind of… I used to… well until yesterday when they left me forever…"

"What are you talking about dear?"

"I used to pretend that my parents were with me. Not all the time, only when I needed them. But to me, they really were there. I saw them, I would talk to them and they would answer me. They would sit with me when I was sick and the Dursleys locked me in my room until I felt better, they would protect me from monsters and help me not to cry after Dudley beat me up—"

"What?" Samantha exclaimed.

Harry looked even more ashamed of himself. "These bruises aren't from falling, Dudley punched me yesterday and got his friends to gang up and kick me today for 'stealing the spotlight from him' and for 'embarrassing my aunt and uncle.' He always does and he always gets away with it. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia always ask what I did to him first and even if I didn't do anything they always blame me. But it's okay," Harry added quickly, "I'm used to it now."

"No, Harry. That doesn't make it okay."

"But don't report them or do anything to get them in trouble!" Harry said almost springing out of the bed, "Please, you promised."

"I don't understand Harry," Samantha said calmly tucking Harry back into the bed to get him sleepy again, "If they don't care for you then why does it matter? Don't you want someone to help you, to take you away?"

"Yes… I mean no. If they take me away, then where will I live? They're the only family I have left. I love them."

"But Harry do they love you?"

Harry's eyes filled with tears before he could stop them. Nobody loved him. She didn't seem to understand. "No, actually they hate me, very much."

"Now I don't know about that, unless they've ever said so…"

"Aunt Petunia said once, when I asked her if she loved me for a homework assignment…"

"What happened?"

"Dudley and I were in the same class and I watched him first to see what I should do. All he did was read exactly from the paper what the teacher told him to say and Aunt Petunia was so impressed she showered him with hugs and kisses and he struggled to get free from her. I wanted to do things differently, to really impress her and make the assignment good. First I gave her the assignment sheet and I hoped she would read it and tell me that I had forgotten something. Instead she just signed it without caring like she always did.

"So then, while she was making dinner I asked her, 'Aunt Petunia do you love Dudley?' and her answer was, 'Yes, more than anything in the entire world.' I asked, 'Do you love me more than anything in the entire world?' and she said 'No.' But I didn't mind because I knew that there was no way that she could love me just as much as her own son when I was only her nephew.

"I changed the question. I asked, 'How much do you love me then?' and she… she said… she said, 'Very little, if anything at all.' without even looking at me." Harry felt the same shrinking feeling in his heart that he felt a year ago as he stood in the kitchen listening to Aunt Petunia's harsh words.

"And I asked her why and she explained that all I had been since she took me in was a nuisance and a pest, though I've really been as polite and grateful as possible, I promise. I said, 'That's not true,' and I started to cry and she sent me to my room and didn't call me back for dinner.

"I stayed awake for a long time, waiting for her to come in and apologise or say 'just kidding' but she never did. I felt so stupid. I should've just read from the paper like Dudley. That night I told my parents and they said, 'Don't worry Harry, you've still got us. That's what matters the most.' and that's the only time I ever thought my parents weren't real—"

Samantha took Harry in her arms, cutting him off again, for now he was crying so hard he could barely breathe. She rocked him back and forth and gently ran her fingers through his hair until he caught his breath and felt somewhat relaxed.

"Can you do something for me Harry?" Samantha asked. Harry sniffled and nodded, his head still buried in her shoulder. "I need you to forget about the Dursleys, forget that you ever even met them, they aren't important right now. What is important is that I'm here, I'm real, I'm going to take care of you and promise I won't hurt you. So please, just forget them, you don't need them. It's for your own sake."

Harry closed his eyes and imagined what life would be like if the Dursleys didn't exist, if Samantha was his mother. He opened his eyes and looked up at Samantha's kind and comforting face and he felt a rush of relief run through him. He wasn't alone anymore. There was a real living breathing person there to take care of him.

"How does that feel?" Harry said nothing, he felt so wonderful no words could describe it, but Samantha could tell by Harry's face that he felt better.

"As for your parents Harry, I'm ninety-nine percent positive that they loved you. Perhaps more than they loved themselves. Most parents do. They didn't plan for that car crash to do what it did, or to leave you here in this world with no one to care for you but your terrible aunt and uncle. It just happened. And if I were you I would try my hardest to believe the story that was told to me, because you're just going to drive yourself crazy trying to figure out otherwise. Okay?"

"I guess…" said Harry. Samantha moved on.

"Can you _please_ eat something now Harry? I would really like to help you feel better and I can't do that if your stomach is empty."

"Okay," Harry said reluctantly. He was so depressed he had almost forgotten how sick he felt.

"I'll be right back then." She left the room and before the door had a chance to stop swinging she returned carrying a plate full of food on a warm tray. Sitting on a stool she pulled up next to Harry's bed, she watched him to make sure he was going to eat.

Harry did eat, though he didn't want to, his mind wandered and he unconsciously began picking at the rolls. He was thinking about Samantha, he found himself doing that a lot recently because she baffled him. Harry wanted to know what it was inside her that made her want to help him when he was basically a complete stranger. He heard movies when strangers helped cute babies or toddlers, but Harry was neither a baby nor did he find himself good looking at all. Even if Samantha was convinced he was attractive, he definitely didn't look it now, with his face pale, rosy and sickly, a bruise on the side of his face and bags under his bloodshot eyes from severe lack of sleep. He ruled that idea out very quickly.

Then Harry got another idea. She was an angel, his guardian angel. It explained why there was something different about her, something that seemed to glow that Harry picked up immediately upon meeting her, and why she always seemed to know how Harry was feeling.

By the time Harry realized he was eating, his food was almost completely gone, and so he finished it and sank down into the pillows. He hadn't eaten a full meal since Saturday and had forgotten how great it felt to be full and sleepy. Samantha returned after putting the dishes in the dishwasher for Harry, with medicine in her hand.

"No… I don't want any medicine thank you." Harry said slowly inching away from her as she drew closer.

"Why not? Have you ever taken medicine before?"

"Yes…once."

"I forgot to ask, what usually happens when you're sick? I heard you say something about quarantine earlier…"

Harry gave Samantha a very confused look.

"It means to be separated from everyone else, so as to not spread something, like a disease or sickness."

"Oh… yeah they do that. Even if Dudley was the one I got sick from in the first place, they always keep me in my room to protect him, and themselves."

"Do they give you food or medicine?"

"If I'm in there for more than a day, they deliver my food when I'm sleeping. And I've only ever had medicine once, the only other time I was really, really sick."

"How old were you? What did you have?"

"I dunno… I think I was four and a half. And they thought I had the flu."

"You had the flu and they left you all alone in your room? You could have died!"

"I wasn't alone there the whole time. I had my parents with me. They helped me through it. After about five days, Aunt Petunia came in and woke me up, gave me medicine and then left when I tried to ask her questions." Samantha looked at Harry very sympathetically. "I'm sorry if I'm hurting you by asking Harry, but I figured since you won't let me report them for all the things they've done, maybe it might help if you … you know… told someone. If it's bothering you, bringing back these memories, tell me and I'll stop."

"No, you're right, it does help. Thank you."

"Are you sure you don't want any medicine?" Samantha asked again.

"No thank you, I really don't think it will help me much." Harry snuggled down in the bed facing Samantha's stool. He watched her turn the lights so low he could barely see and heard the quiet creak of the stool as she sat down.

"I'm going to stay here with you, in case you have any more nightmares." she said taking his glasses off of his face and placing them on the lamp table.

Harry smiled in spite of himself. "Mm-kay." Then they were quiet.

Harry was still having trouble sleeping. His previous dream had shaken him up quite a bit and he still saw flashes of it when he closed his eyes. But he was sure that Samantha was tired and pretty much sick of him and his woeful stories, so he closed his eyes and took slow deep breaths so she would be convinced he was sleeping and perhaps go to sleep as well. It didn't work though; he'd forgotten she had a talent for seeing through his lies. Either that or he was just terrible actor.

After a few very long minutes, Samantha whispered, "Harry? Are you still awake?"

Harry hesitated then answered her, eyes closed. "Yes."

"Would you…would you like me to come in and sleep with you dear?"

"No thanks, I'll be all right." Harry felt embarrassed and uneasy when he told this to Samantha. He didn't really mean it, in truth there was nothing more in the world Harry could want right now than for someone to help protect him from his own thoughts. He turned over and tried not to think about it.

Samantha however, was not fooled. When Harry turned over, she pulled the slippers off of her feet and climbed into the bed regardless of what Harry said. She wrapped her arms around his skinny shivering body, pulled him close to her, and sighed out of relaxation and content.

Harry's heart almost exploded with emotion. He felt safe, warm, and comfortable and loved all at one moment. He couldn't believe that just then and there, all of his wishes had come true, with the simple gesture of a girl Harry hardly knew. She was protecting him from himself and from everything else. After that Harry stopped shaking and fell asleep almost immediately, with a satisfied smile on his face.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry awoke no more than twenty minutes later feeling sweaty, stifled and nauseous. But this time it was a different kind of nauseous, one that resulted from his illness kicking in again due to his recent gain of energy from eating. Samantha's arms were still wrapped tightly around Harry. She was so close to him, Harry could hear her slow deep breaths as she slept.

Harry thought about waking her. _She would really want it, Harry. She wants nothing more than for you to trust her and it's the least you could do after all that she's done for you._

_No,_ the realistic voice in his head argued back, _you can take care of yourself. That way there's no embarrassment. Just go to the bathroom, get it all over with and you'll be back before she even notices you're gone._

Harry slid very slowly and carefully down in the bed until he was free from Samantha's warm grasp. Then he tiptoed across the living room and into the bathroom gently and quietly closing the door behind him. He turned the light on and immediately the blinding light turned into a painful headache which then turned into a terrible wave of nausea. Harry rushed to the toilet and as soon as he pulled the lid open he began to vomit.

He threw up several times before stopping himself, shuddering and shaking once more much to his displeasure, and slowly lowered himself to the ground. He felt lightheaded and disgusted with himself, like he had committed some sort of crime merely by being sick at Samantha's house. He wanted to cry but he figured it was unnecessary and he didn't. Instead he simply sat there covering his eyes from the light and waited for the nauseous feeling to pass.

"What's the matter, Harry?" croaked a quiet voice after Harry had been waiting for only God knows how long, he uncovered his hands at the sound of his name. Again, Samantha stood at the door looking tired and confused as to what she and Harry were doing there.

"Just go back to bed… I-I'll be there in a second… I'm coming I promise… Go back to sleep."

"Are you all right? Have you been sick?" she asked coming closer to him and looking more awake as well as more concerned.

"No… well sort of… I'm fine. I'm okay. I just… just felt…" Harry grew very green in the face but suppressed the feeling and managed to keep from being sick all over Samantha.

"You were sick weren't you Harry? Oh, Harry, why didn't you—"

"Tell you I know, I know, I should have! I'm sorry!" Harry said suddenly crying hysterically, "I meant to, I promise! It's not that I don't trust you, I d-do, I s-swear, it's just… I don't know. P-p-please don't be m-mad at me Samantha, p-p-please…"

"Harry please! I didn't even get a chance to speak yet!" Samantha said, stopping him mid sentence. Harry caught his breath before Samantha spoke. "I'm not mad at you at all. I just want to know why you would keep it from me still, after all I've told you after all you've already told me…"

Harry took a deep breath and mustered up the courage to tell Samantha what was going on inside his head. "I don't feel comfortable telling you when I feel sick because… well because you're not my mum, no matter how much I want you to be and I know for a fact that even though you pretend you don't care you really don't want to stay up all night long with me and my nonsense ."

Samantha looked very sad. "I'm sorry… I didn't want to hurt your feelings…" Harry said feeling guilty.

"You didn't hurt my feelings Harry, but I still can't believe that after all of this time you still believe that I think your illness is nonsense and that I have doubts about helping you. I knew what I was in for when I offered for you to stay with me, and I am ready for every part of it. So please, for heaven's sake, stop trying to take care of yourself—"

"Why?"Harry asked acidly. Did Samantha doubt his independence?

"Because Harry, you're only a child, a very young child. And though I know children who basically raised themselves or are raising themselves, they're always stressed and tired and never get a chance to just enjoy being a kid. Trust me it's not the kind of life you want to live, and when someone comes along and gives you the opportunity to relax… then you should take it."

Harry didn't know what to say. She was absolutely right, he was always frustrated and tired and wished that someone would take over for him and give him a break sometimes. On the other hand, he wanted to be brave and strong and take care of himself.

"I wish I could but… I want to be brave… my parents would want me t-to be brave." Samantha helped Harry to his feet, crouched down so that they were at eye level and pulled him closer to her, so close that Harry could see directly into her endless sea blue eyes.

"Your parents would want you to be healthy, to take care of yourself. They would be proud of you for sticking it out for so long but would want very much for you to give me a chance to help you, at least for right now. Harry, you've been very brave your whole life but now you're very sick and you can't possibly do this on your own. What do you say?" Harry looked down at his feet, then back at Samantha.

"I promise from now on I'll let you help me, no matter how hard it is for me to tell you how I'm feeling. Because… well because you're right. I'm too little to do everything by myself." And he hugged her.

Samantha was surprised. Though Harry had willingly hugged her back the past three times, it had been _her_ that hugged _him_, not the other way around. Still holding on to Harry, who was trying to hide that he was crying silently into her shoulder, whether of joy or of sadness Samantha could not determine, she flushed the toilet and picked him up. "Do you want me to get you some medicine?"

Harry shook his head. "I think... I think I'm done for tonight." She carried him back to the bed and tucked him under the blankets next to her.

"Good night, Harry." she whispered to him

"'Night Samantha." Harry whispered back and they both drifted to sleep together.

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_Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews guys, they really make my day =)_

_I hope you enjoy this chapter. Hopefully another one will be up soon. Please review!!_

_xoxo Bailey_


	9. Chapter 9

_Author's Note: Chapter 9 guys! Woo! =)_

_Sorry for the extreme lateness of this chapter, but school started again and I have so much homework..._

_I've recieved a few PM's telling me that the story is going a bit slow, and I completely understand. But I wrote it last year, and I really cant get rid of anything. I even went back into it to see if could delete some stuff but I couldn't bring myself to do it._

_Also, a couple of you said that you don't understand where the story is going. And I **can't** tell you what I've got planned but I'll explain a bit._

_In my notes I wrote that the idea was for Harry to learn a lesson every time he "falls asleep" and wakes up. Everything will come together in the end though, I promise. Just keep reading =D_

_Anyway, here's chapter 9, I hope you guys like it. Please review!!_

_xoxo Bailey x3_

* * *

"Harry! Harry! HARRY!" Harry blinked open his eyes slowly. At first his vision was very blurred but he felt his cold glasses touch the bridge of his nose and saw that he was lying on his back, twisted in his bedclothes, and a very worried looking Samantha was sitting over him, with a wet towel in one hand and pulling the other hand away from his face.

"Harry? Can you talk to me honey? Say something."

"What happened?" Harry asked in barely more than a whisper.

"You were having a terrible fit when you woke me. You were gasping for breath like someone was choking you, your temperature was through the roof and I didn't know what to do. Then you passed out. Do you feel—"

Harry rolled over to the end of the bed and threw up.

"Oh my gosh… oh my gosh… oh my gosh… I'm calling the hospital. This is out of my hands. You need to see a doctor."

"No… I'm fine… I feel fine—" He leaned over and threw up again.

"Stay with me Harry. Just breathe." Samantha rushed out of the living room and into the kitchen returned with the phone and immediately started dialling numbers.

"Please… don't call the hospital… I'm really scared of the hospital… and doctors…"

Samantha ignored Harry and continued dialling. Harry knew his opinion no longer mattered, he had told her that he felt fine three times already yet it was obvious that he wasn't. He said the only thing he felt that he knew would matter.

"If you take me to the hospital they'll call the Dursleys and make me go back to them, and I'll never get to see you again."

At once Samantha stopped dialling and looked at Harry, just as he wanted her to. "And… I need you. I need you to talk to me, to protect me and to comfort me."

Samantha put down the phone and looked very much like she was going to cry. "Then what do you suggest I do Harry?" she asked him. "I can't just sit here and watch you suffer as I try hopelessly to help you. We need a professional, this is serious."

Just then her eyes lit up, like a bright idea smacked her in the head. "Lie down and stay awake Harry. I'm going to call a doctor for advice."

Harry did as Samantha asked and lay down, even though he really didn't want to. He felt much better, he only had a painful headache which was nothing compared to everything else he'd been feeling lately.

Samantha sat on the stool on the opposite side Harry had been sick and put the phone to her ear. "You can't call your mum either!" Harry warned, sitting up again, "She might tell me to leave too."

"I'm not calling my mum," she said pushing Harry back down in the bed. "I'm calling one of my old paediatricians. He's the best I know. Please, just relax."

Samantha's voice changed as someone answered the phone. "Hello, I understand that it's very late but I was wondering if I could speak to Dr. Walter Lipton. Please, it's an emergency." she sounded much older. "Thank you." She pushed a button on the phone that allowed Harry to overhear the conversation. There was a lot of movement on the line before finally a man's voice was heard.

"Dr. Lipton, who's speaking?"

"This is Samantha Kinney, Dr. Lipton. Do you remember me?"

"Samantha Kinney? Of course I remember you! How's your mum?"

"She's doing well thank you." said Samantha politely.

"Wow… Samantha Kinney… How old are you now?"

"Sixteen, sir."

"Sixteen? It's been that long? I can't believe it! I remember when you were just a baby. Anyway, what can I do for you?"

"I'm babysitting for one of my neighbours, the child is very sick and my mum's out of town on business. I need your help."

"Very well. How old is he?"

"He's six. His name is Harry." She pulled a thermometer out of her pocket and stuck it in Harry's mouth.

"What's the matter with him?"

"Oh, just about everything."Samantha said worriedly. She then recanted to Dr. Lipton everything that happened to Harry since he arrived at Samantha's house, leaving out all of the parts where Harry told Samantha all of his troubles at the Dursley's house, of course.

"Then about twenty minutes ago he was sleeping in my bed and he woke me up because he was having a fit. A terrible fit; he was sweating and kicking and gasping for breath and then he stopped and passed out. I was so scared I didn't know what to do. I tried everything mum taught me, the wet towel and the ice, nothing was working. When he woke up he threw up twice but now he says he feels fine. I have no idea what he has or… or what to do about it. I'm so worried about him."

"All right, calm down. Is he awake now?"

"Yes."

"Basal body temperature?"

Samantha took the thermometer out of Harry's mouth and looked at it. "Thirty-nine and a half degrees."

"Oh my… How much sleep has he been getting lately?"

"Very little, about an hour a night for the past three days, he tells me."

"Hold on for just a minute." The shuffling of paper was heard over the phone as Samantha and Harry waited anxiously for an answer.

"You might have been right, it could just be a virus of the stomach provoked by exhaustion, but it could also be an ear infection. Ask him to stand up if he can."

Samantha took hold of Harry's hand and helped Harry out of bed. He felt lightheaded as he stood up.

"He's standing, now what do I do?"

"Now ask him to walk in a straight line. If he can't he has an ear infection. Also, watch how he's walking. If he leans to the left, then his ear infection is in the right and vice versa"

Harry walked in a straight line first away from Samantha, then back towards her. As he walked his head spun with dizziness, but he stayed in the straight line.

"No he's walking fine but… what's wrong Harry?"

"I'm dizzy." said Harry, falling into Samantha's arms. She scooped him up and put him back into bed. He knew how serious Samantha was and he knew not to waste time pretending everything's okay anymore.

"Dr. Lipton, he says he's dizzy."

"Dizzy... of course, of course..." There was a pause as Dr. Lipton thought, then he took a deep breath and said. "It's a severe stomach virus, just as you said, enhanced by dehydration and stress. Extensive amounts of all three can put the body into shock which explains his convulsions or the fit. He may have also vomited in his sleep and choked, which would cause the gasping for breath. Always remember to lay the child on their side or stomach with a stomach virus. And all he needs is the normal remedies for it, to drink plenty of water, lots and lots of rest and tender love and care and he should feel much better by morning."

"What about medicine?" Samantha asked.

"Midrenocinilin-A should work fine." Dr Lipton answered easily.

"No, I mean will he be okay if he doesn't take any?"

"Of course he'll be okay! It's viral, not bacterial; he'd be fine if he tried to take care of himself!" Dr. Lipton chuckled. Harry stiffened up. "This disease isn't lethal but it can be extremely uncomfortable. I do highly recommend that he takes medicine, as it will make his night much easier, but he won't die if he doesn't."

Harry gave Samantha a "ha-ha" look. "Thanks a million, Dr. Lipton."

"No problem Samantha Kinney. If you need anything else don't hesitate to call. Lord knows I'm awake at all hours of the night."

"Thank you, goodbye."

"Goodbye." Samantha pressed the off button on the phone. "I knew that," she said to Harry, putting the phone on the lamp table next to the couch, "I just needed verification that it wasn't fatal."

"Was it really that bad?" Harry asked. He sounded very frightened. "When you were telling Dr. Lipton what happened to me, it sounded scary."

"Yes, it was very scary. I was scared, especially when you passed out." She pulled the chair closer to his bed.

"I'm sorry for frightening you," Harry said apologetically, "And I'm sorry for throwing up on your floor and for keeping you awake and—"

"Why don't you apologize for world hunger while you're at it?" Harry stopped, confused.

"Harry, all of the things you're apologising for are not your fault, and though I appreciate your apologies, they're unnecessary. It was my fault anyway, if I had only remembered to lay you on your side or stomach, none of this would have happened. Besides, you're just going to work yourself up and become even more stressed."

"What does 'stressed' mean?" asked Harry. He was far too tired to be angry with her.

"When someone is stressed, it means that they're carrying a weight that is way too heavy for them, whether it is literally on their body or hypothetically in their mind. For example, I knew you were stressed when I first met you in that restaurant. I could tell by your eyes that you weren't getting enough sleep and by your behaviour that it was important that you behaved well at that dinner. Now, I know that your lack of sleep was due to your illness and that you were stressed because all of your life you were raised by cruel and evil people."

Harry couldn't help but smile when Samantha called the Dursleys 'cruel' and 'evil'.

"Do you get it?"

"Yeah," Harry sighed. Maybe Samantha was right then, maybe he was stressed.

"Good, then get some sleep now." Harry was all too happy to hear those words.


	10. Chapter 10

Harry lay awake in bed his eyes clearly wide open, though he felt very tired. "I can't sleep Samantha." He said after they'd spent a good five minutes staring at each other.

"I was beginning to think the same thing myself," she laughed, "And you heard the doctor, he said that sleep was very important if you want to feel better by morning."

"So what do I do?"

"I have a couple of ideas in mind." They both climbed out of bed and she took his hand and led him to the kitchen. She quickly stirred some honey into a cup of milk and put it in the microwave. Then, while waiting for the milk to get warm, she took a cookie out of the jar and put it on a plate in front of Harry.

The microwave oven beeped and she took the warm milk out and placed that in front of Harry too.

"When I was little, I was a terrible sleeper," she explained, "My mum used to give me cookies and milk with honey to help me go to sleep. It always worked for me."

Harry slowly began to eat and drink. He didn't like the taste of warm milk with honey in it, and he didn't like eating when he wasn't hungry, but he thought it would be an insult to Samantha's cooking if he mentioned it, so he continued to eat and drink quietly. As he took the last sip, he felt an odd and uncomfortable sensation in the pit of his stomach.

Samantha took his plate and mug and put them in the dishwasher. "Do you want to try and sleep now?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't think it worked."

"Nonsense," said Samantha, "You haven't even lain down yet. "Give it a chance."

Harry sighed, Samantha didn't understand. He hopped off the stool and took her hand and together they went back to the bed. As soon as they came through the swinging door Harry stopped.

"What? What is it?" He closed his eyes. He wanted to say 'nothing' but he knew that would just cause more problems. Besides, he promised.

"I… I…" His face turned a deeper shade of green.

At once Samantha realized. Without another word she dragged Harry to the bathroom.

"That didn't work." she said wiping Harry's face with a wet cloth.

"I wasn't sick… that much." said Harry optimistically, "Maybe that means I'm getting better."

"Maybe not." said Samantha. Harry was beginning to think that she was cross with him.

"I'm sorry." he said sincerely.

"For what?"

"For causing so much trouble. It's really late and I know you want to go to sleep."

"Thank you for apologising," she said rising to rinse off the cloth, "But as I already told you, this is what I call fun. No need for apologies." Samantha turned off the faucet and opened the medicine cabinet.

"You're not going in there for me are you?" asked Harry slowly stepping away from Samantha and towards the door.

"Why? Don't you want to feel better?"

"Yes… but don't you remember? The doctor said it was possible without medicine."

"True, he did, but he also said that your night would be twenty times more comfortable if you took medicine. Don't you want to go to sleep?"

"Yes but I really don't want medicine. Can't you help me get better without it?

"Probably, but don't you think it will be more difficult? Just take the medicine, it can only help you."

"No. I can handle anything that comes at me. I'm tough."

"That you are Harry, but—"

"Are you going to make me?"

Samantha sighed. "No, I can't make you do anything you don't want to, but I strongly suggest that you do." Harry violently shook his head. "You are very stubborn." Samantha closed the cabinet, took his hand again, but this time led him down the hallway to a part of the house Harry had never seen before.

"Where are we going?"

"To my parents' room. I have another idea."

She stopped at a door and slowly opened it to reveal a very large bedroom. Everything in it was a creamy white colour; the bed sheets, the wall and the carpet, or else they were brown like the bed and the dresser which reminded Harry of Dudley's favourite flavour of birthday cake, butter cream, which Harry had only tasted once.

She then took Harry to what he first perceived as a closet but when she opened it, it revealed a small room, which her parents had turned into a miniature spa.

"Wow," said Harry his eyes wide with amazement, "This is so cool."

Samantha smiled. "Climb on that will you please?" She pointed to the corner where a slightly slanted table stood, Harry did as Samantha asked. Samantha adjusted it so that Harry's head touched the pillow at the top.

"This is a vibrating table. It's very relaxing. Try it." Samantha turned it on and Harry felt the vibrations run through his body. At first it felt great and he closed his eyes excitedly expecting to fall asleep and stay that way. But after two minutes it wasn't so fun anymore.

"Stop it. Samantha STOP IT!" Harry cried and Samantha hurried out of the squish table she was lying on and turned Harry's machine off.

"What's wrong? Why are you crying?"

"I'm sorry but… I don't like it… I'm going to be sick…" Samantha picked Harry up and carried him to the bathroom in her parents' room where Harry only just made it.

He threw up four times and then continued to cry until Samantha said, "Harry, it's over. Please calm down. You're going to make matters worse."

"I'm so sorry… Samantha I'm sorry…"

"It's okay Harry, just calm down." But Harry still continued to cry. Samantha, seeing how hopeless it was trying to reason with him, sat down on the rug of the bathroom crossed her legs and began to take deep breaths like the woman on Aunt Petunia's yoga tapes.

Harry stopped crying and chuckled at Samantha through teary eyes. "What are you doing?"

"I'm showing you how…" She inhaled another deep breath and then exhaled, "To calm down."

Harry watched her inquisitively for another minute before sitting down next to her and imitating her deep breaths.

"That's better now isn't it?"

"I guess so…"

Samantha stood up, grabbed Harry's hands and helped him up too. "We're going to my bedroom. I have an aromatherapy machine that I want you to try."

Samantha's room was very girly and reminded Harry of Aunt Petunia's flower garden. The walls were a lovely shade of lavender with a trim of blue. There were pieces of artwork on her walls, all flowers of course, and a small assortment of stuffed animals on a shelf in the corner. Her bed had purple and blue plaid bedclothes, a large lavender blanket and many tiny blue and purple pillows scattered across the bed. On her bed stand was a small machine that looked like an inside out cup holder with a fan inside.

Harry lay on top of Samantha's bed and felt like a princess. He gave her a look and she giggled. "It's only for a while. If it really bothers you I can take it somewhere else. But it's such an effort to unplug."

"No, it's okay." said Harry closing his eyes. Samantha turned on the machine and it rumbled a little before the fan turned on and emitted a lovely lavender and vanilla smell.

As he inhaled the sweet smells, he felt more and more sleepy. However instead of dreams, with every breath of sweet air Harry took, he saw swirling images of lovely, cheerful colours. The longer he slept the more powerful the colours became. Five minutes passed and the swirling became faster. By eight minutes the colours were moving so fast, Harry's head began to spin. Yet Harry persisted. He was determined to make this work. Ten minutes later he'd had enough.

"It's not working," he said calmly, again hiding his pain from Samantha. But this time he was much better at it than he was in the restaurant. "I have a headache. I think we should try something else."

"Are you sure? It's only been ten minutes. Maybe you need to get used to it first—"

"No. I really want to try something else."

"But it was working! You were calm and relaxed. Just give it a chance."

"I don't want to!" Harry said angrily. He jumped out of the bed and stormed out of Samantha's bedroom.

"Harry, wait! Come back!" Samantha turned off the machine before leaving her room but by the time she got to the hallway Harry had disappeared.

"Harry? Where have you gone?" She slowly continued down the hall and noticed that the light was on in the bathroom. _'I could have sworn I turned that off…'_ She pushed the door open to turn the light off and was surprised to see Harry, who had managed to run down the hallway and into the bathroom to throw up before Samantha could even notice where he'd gone.

"Harry… Let me help you—"

"No! I don't want your help anymore! If you had just… listened to me this would never have happened! I told you that it w-wasn't working! Y-You didn't listen!"

"I know Harry, I'm sorry. I thought you were just being pessimistic. You should have said something." She reached out to put her arm around his shoulder but he rudely smacked it away.

"Ouch! What was that for?"

"For making me think… that you could help me… when you have no idea what you're doing… I was better off on my own. I'm going home." Harry flushed the toilet and ran to the living room and began taking off the pyjamas that Samantha gave him and putting own his own soaking wet, oversized clothes.

Samantha stood there, from the door frame where the hallway met the living room and watched him. Harry was storming very quickly all around the room, throwing the things Samantha had given him onto the bed and taking the few things that belonged to him along. All the time he was muttering under his breath Samantha could only catch words like 'sick' and 'stupid' and phrases like 'waste of my time'.

Harry finally finished gathering his things went to the door and turned to Samantha for a final word. But when he looked at her, she didn't look the same, the glow in her eyes and the happy disposition that Harry loved was gone. After watching her for a while he realized that her eyes were filled with tears; she was crying.

"You're not sad because I'm leaving are you? Because you don't have to do that, I know that you're happy to finally be getting to sleep."

"No, Harry. I'm not happy to finally go to bed and I'm not crying because you're leaving either. I'm crying because your inability to trust me, to believe that I really don't care about my lack of sleep or much anything about my personal needs right now, is going to hurt you. I'm crying because I know that when you go back to your house, you're going to be tortured again, they're going to starve you and lock you up, and you're going to cry yourself to sleep. I'm crying because I care, I don't want any of that to happen to you. I… I love you Harry."

Harry almost couldn't believe what he had just heard. He didn't think that those words could possibly fit into a sentence together. Someone loved him. His heart stopped.

"I love you like a sister loves her little brother, or like a mother loves her son. Like you're a part of my family, and I wanted you to feel the same way too. But if you don't, then that's fine. I can't make you feel something that's not there. I'm not trying to convince you not to leave. If you really want to walk out that door and never see me again, then by all means go ahead. I just need you to tell me that that is what will make you genuinely happy Harry Potter, because if you're happy then that's all that matters. I want you to look me in the eyes and answer me this question; is that what you truly want?" Samantha had streams of tears streaked down her face.

_Don't cry Harry, stay strong. Do what you believe is best, get out of here… _But the seemingly negative voice in Harry's head didn't seem so convincing anymore.

What was he doing? He didn't want to leave, but he didn't want to stay. Harry was so confused. He sat down on the floor and threw his hands into his lap.

"I can't. It won't make me happy to leave. But it won't make me happy to stay either. I don't know what to do."

Samantha wiped her eyes with the sleeves of her sweatshirt, walked into the foyer and sat down next to Harry on the cold hard ground.

"What will make you happy?"

Harry thought, though he was sure he already knew the answer. "Sleep, I want to go to sleep Samantha. I don't want to be sick anymore, I'm tired of throwing up and I'm sleepy… so sleepy."

"Then what you _should_ do is go someplace that will help you get that way the fastest and easiest. Someplace where someone patient can listen and care for you, until you finally get enough rest."

"The only p-people who can do that are my m-mum and d-dad," Harry said through tears. "And they… they d-died so long ago. I guess I'll n-never feel better, o-or be happy…"

"Harry, listen. The only reason why parents can make their children feel better fastest in almost any situation is because of love. If your parents die, that doesn't mean you give up on living. There are still other people in the world who love you, or who can love you if you give them the chance. With love they can help make you better too, if you just be patient."

Harry looked at her, as the information sank into his mind, then leaned over and fell into Samantha's lap, hysterically crying once again. "I'm so sorry… I-I can't make up my m-mind and you've b-been nothing but nice to me and really p-patient…" He sniffled and sat up. "Samantha, if I promise to stop whining like a baby all the time and instead of telling you how wrong you are, I promise to trust you can I please stay and will you please make me better?"

Samantha smiled weakly. "Of course you can and of course I will, without the promise. Not being able to make up your mind is part of your sickness. It's making you frustrated and you don't know how to deal with it and you're forcing it on me. But you do have to promise me a couple of other things though."

"Anything." said Harry eagerly, a tone of sincere hope in his voice.

"First I want you to promise me you'll stop apologising, completely. For the hundredth time, none of this is your fault. Second, I want you to promise me that if you need anything, and I mean _anything_ you will tell me at once. Third, promise me that if things get too out of hand, and you get so sick that I can't manage it, you'll let me take you to the hospital. You're health is much more important than your fears and once you've been admitted, the hospital can't give you back to the Dursleys until you're better. Do we have a deal?"

Harry sniffled then nodded. "I promise. But… p-please make sure that the hospital is your last and final resort. D-doctors make me s-s-so nervous…"

Samantha held out both of her arms preparing to give Harry a nice consoling hug. He stood up and fell into her and she hugged him so tightly he felt his back cracking. Nevertheless, he hugged her back just as tightly.

"Let's get you changed out of these clothes," she muttered into his ear and she picked him up and carried him back into the living room. That was the last time Harry tried to run away from her.

As she changed his clothes Harry began to feel different. It felt like he was slipping away, like he was finally getting to sleep except he was standing up. Even so, it still felt wonderful and he let the lethargic feeling come over him as things slowly started to slip into a blur…

* * *

_Author's Note: We're nearing the end! Well... kinda =) Please **review**!_

_xoxo Bailey x3_


	11. Chapter 11

The sun was shining on Harry's eyes for a long time before he finally opened them. It was morning and for the first time in a very long time, Harry felt somewhat well rested. He sat up, put on his glasses, and looked around. He had almost forgotten that he was at Samantha's house. Samantha's side of the bed was made neatly as though she had never been there in the first place. Harry wondered if she went back to her room as soon as he fell asleep. The thought of it made him feel a little sad inside.

He also noticed that the sick next to the bed was cleaned up and that there was an icepack next to the bed. _I don't remember an icepack _Harry thought. Come to think of it, he didn't really remember much of anything that happened after the phone call with the doctor.

"Well good morning my little ray of sunshine!" Samantha said as she came into the living room, holding a steaming cup of tea in her hand.

Harry smiled at her. "How are you feeling?" She asked setting the tea down and sitting on the neatly made side of the bed.

"Okay, better than yesterday but I think I'm still a bit sick."

"How? What's wrong?"

"I'm still really tired, and I have a headache but that's it."

"I expect you would be tired after last night." She placed a soft palm on Harry's face.

"What happened… last night?" he asked her.

"You don't remember?"

Harry shook his head. "What's the last thing you do remember?"

"I remember you calling the doctor."

Samantha looked surprised. "You don't remember falling asleep?"

Harry thought very hard. "After warm milk and honey?" he guessed.

"No dear, not until way after that" She made herself comfortable on the bed. "The milk made you sick. I asked you if you wanted medicine and you stubbornly said no. I then tried putting you on my parent's vibrating table in their room. It didn't work at all, it lasted three seconds then you started to cry. When I asked you what was wrong, you said you felt sick and you threw up about forty seconds later. I tried the vibrating table in my parent's spa, that didn't quite work well, and the aromatherapy machine in my room, but you slept for about ten minutes—"

"And then I got a headache and I threw up again."

Again, Samantha looked surprised. "You remember?"

"A little, then I yelled at you. I'm really sorry about that by the way."

"Stop apologising, honey. It was part of your sickness. You were frustrated and emotionally confused. Afterward you… well you weren't quite yourself. I couldn't get you to stop crying and you became worse and worse. You were sick at least ten times nonstop for no reason and there was nothing I could do but sit by your side and hold you and try to get you to calm down.

"When it finally stopped I was going to make you drink water because I knew that vomiting can dehydrate you and make you even sicker when I got the most wonderful idea. The bubbles and the ginger in ginger ale would make you feel better for sure. But being that you were very delusional you had a fit as soon and I said, 'Drink this please.' And I literally had to hold you down to get you to drink it. You weren't sick again after that.

"I thought it would be easier to get you to sleep after you weren't throwing up anymore but unfortunately I was wrong. Though you weren't sick anymore you were still very emotional and delusional. I expect that's why you don't remember what happened last night. You continued to cry and yell things aloud like, 'Please come back!' and 'It's entirely my fault.' I tried to tell you otherwise but you wouldn't listen to me. I think you were so tired and you lost so many electrolytes you weren't fully conscious.

"I lay you on my lap and rocked you on my mum's rocking chair for what seemed like hours. You didn't improve but you didn't worsen either. I was fatigued and frustrated and I gave up. I took you back to the bed, lay you on your stomach and tucked you in. Then I started rubbing your back and humming and all at once, you fell asleep. It was the strangest thing, like you had been waiting for it all along."

Harry turned away from Samantha sharply. "What's the problem?" she asked him, concerned.

He took a deep breath and then turned back to face her. "Nothing… ever since I was a kid all I wanted was for my mum to sing me to sleep like Aunt Petunia did to Dudley. She had a special lullaby for him and everything. I wanted that so badly and… and last night you gave it to me for the first time. That's probably why I fell asleep so fast."

"If that's all you wanted why didn't you just ask me earlier last night? You could have saved me a lot of time." she grinned cheerily.

"I… didn't know," said Harry, "I'm so—I mean I'll try to think of it next time." He smiled shyly. "Did I wake up after that?"

"Nope. You've been sleeping since three in the morning. I stayed up until seven, just in case you woke up again I wanted to be available. I cleaned up the sick, put a special cream on your bruises, and watched you sleep."

"You didn't have to stay up like that all night. How much sleep did you get?"

"Oh I don't know… two and a half hours?"

Harry did quick math in his head. "It's nine o' clock?! I've already missed an hour of school! I have to go!"

Harry made a rush to get out of the bed but Samantha held him back. "Relax, Harry," she said, "I took your temperature while you were sleeping and it was still thirty-eight degrees and I decided you weren't going to school. I called the principal and impersonated your aunt, he said everything is all right and wishes you well."

Harry felt two feelings at once. He was worried, because had never missed school before and didn't know what it was like to not know what was taught in class that day. But he was relieved because he was scared he would throw up or fall asleep in class and he felt too sensitive to be teased.

He sighed and closed his eyes. Maybe today he could sleep as long as he wanted, until he wasn't tired anymore, like he never was able to do before. Samantha ran her fingers through his hair and along his face and he opened his eyes gently when her palm rested on his cheek.

"I made pancakes, do you want any?"

"Yes please." said Harry politely, though he wasn't very hungry. He was afraid if he fell asleep and didn't wake up for a while he would wake up starving and he was finished with stomach aches for quite a while.

Samantha patted Harry on the knee affectionately and disappeared into the kitchen, only to reappear two minutes later with the same food tray Harry had used to eat dinner. This time, though, instead of soup and rolls being on the plate, there were warm pancakes and syrup, sausage, bacon, fresh fruit and a small cup of tea in the corner.

Harry looked at the plate semi-disgustedly. "What's the matter sweetie?" Samantha asked.

"Nothing," said Harry shyly, "It's just… I don't want to hurt your feelings but… I can't eat all of this food." Harry closed his eyes and waited for Samantha to yell at him about how ungrateful he was, she had let him into her house and taken good care of him and now he was insulting her cooking, before kicking him out of the house and forcing him to tell the Dursleys the truth.

However, this did not happen at all. Instead, Samantha smiled and said, "That doesn't hurt my feelings Harry, I know you can't eat all of this. I just figured I would offer it in case you could. Eat what you can honey. We'll throw the rest away." Harry was so happy to hear this. With that, he began to eat.

That day was the best day of Harry's young life. The two of them ate, slept, laughed, slept, talked, slept, cried slept and slept all day long. When he talked, Samantha listened to every word he had to say and offered advice when she believed Harry needed it. When they laughed, they laughed hard and long for what seemed like hours, until their stomachs hurt. When Harry cried, Samantha was there for him. She offered him a shoulder to cry on and sincere words of comfort. And when they slept, Harry curled up into a tiny ball, Samantha wrapped her arms around the small child and they slept for hours… together.

Finally it was six o' clock in the evening and it was time for Harry to get ready to go home. After letting Harry take a nice long soothing bath with bubbles to help him ease stress, and dressing him, Samantha stood him up on the bed, and was straightening out his clothes and fixing his hair, as though he was about to go somewhere nice. It was clear to Harry that she was looking for reasons for him to stay.

"Now, when you get home I don't want you to just jump into activities. I don't care how wonderful you feel, you need to rest."

"Yes, Samantha."

"I also want you to get as much food as you can tomorrow, and to eat it. You can't afford to starve yourself like you did for a long time Harry. You need to build up your defences."

"Yes, Samantha."

"Try to eat foods that won't upset your tummy. Don't drink milk or soda or have anything spicy or sour."

"Okay, Samantha."

"And if you _ever _feel sick again at all tonight, for any reason, I want you to run away from the Dursleys and come to my house. I can take care of you here until Thursday."

"Yes, Samantha."

"Okay then," she said letting him down off of the bed. "I guess it's time for you to be going now…"

She led him to the door. Harry wanted to say something really nice. After all she did deserve it; she had practically saved his life.

"Samantha," he began finally, after struggling what to say in his head for a while. Samantha stopped and looked at Harry. "Thank you… for everything. If it weren't for you, I'd probably be dead… and... erm... I just wanted to let you know that this was the best day of my life and that I really and truly do love you."

Samantha crouched down near Harry, eyes filled with tears of joy, and hugged him as tight as she could. Then, much to Harry's surprise, she kissed him on the cheek leaving a faint strawberry Chap Stick scented mark on his face. "Take care, Harry."

Harry was so happy, yet somewhat sad that he had to leave her. He kissed her back, hugged her tight and said, "I will, I promise." He stepped out the door with a broad smile on his face and ran across the lawn toward the Dursley home.

When Harry walked in the door, nobody seemed to notice, but Harry didn't care. Nobody ever did, and he liked it that way. Usually when they noticed him, it meant he was in trouble.

"Hello?" Harry called out. Nobody answered. He entered the kitchen, and saw the Dursley family huddled around the television set, just finishing their dinner.

"Hello?" repeated Harry, more quietly this time.

Uncle Vernon turned around. "Ah, back from Mrs. Figg's I see," he said happily, as though he knew Harry had suffered. "Did she work you to the bone boy?"

"Er... oh, yes." said Harry, "It was so much work. She made me clean her entire attic by myself… and all of those litter boxes… I never want to see a pooper scooper ever again." he said more exhaustedly. He had almost forgotten that he was supposed to be on punishment.

Uncle Vernon had a triumphant look about his face. "Good," he said savagely, "I hope that leaves a lasting impression on you. That should teach you never to meddle and tell lies for attention like that again. Now eat your cold cereal for dinner and go straight to bed."

"But it's only seven-thirty!" Harry whined, pretending as though he hadn't already eaten and that he.

"I know how to tell time!" barked Uncle Vernon, "And now you can go straight to bed for your attitude!"

Harry hanged his head and dragged his feet all the way to the cupboard under the stairs where he slept. When he was safely inside with the door closed, and heard the applause of the television show in the kitchen restarting, he burst out laughing.

"I hope that was convincing enough," Harry said aloud, beginning to undress and get ready for bed. He tucked himself in and fell straight to sleep smiling. He was sure nothing could spoil his fantastic mood.

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_Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Please review!! Happy Halloween =)_

_xoxo Bailey x3_


	12. Chapter 12

But Harry was very wrong. He woke early the next morning, feeling rather healthy, and dressed in order to avoid Aunt Petunia's daily early morning screams. By the time she was awake and dressed Harry was already sitting at the table quietly waiting for his breakfast, and by the time Dudley was awake, dressed and complaining, Harry had already finished his unsatisfying breakfast of one piece of plain toast and was on his way out the door to wait for the bus.

He arrived at school feeling hungry, a bit tired, and overall grumpy, but he tried hard not to show it. His teacher, Mrs. Forrester, felt no sympathy for him at all for being absent the previous day. In fact, she went out of her way to make Harry's life difficult. First, she refused to give him the work he missed and told him that he needed to ask a friend. Mrs. Forrester was well aware that all of his classmates hated him as much as she did. Second, she gave the students not one, but several pop quizzes and did not exemplify Harry from any of them. Stumped, Harry was forced to hand in a blank paper each time. Then, Mrs. Forrester taught all of her lessons based on the lessons of the previous day, confusing Harry, and leaving him even further behind than he already was. Finally, Mrs. Forrester topped it all off with extreme amounts of homework for Harry, not counting the homework he had missed for being absent, and gave practically no homework to the rest of the class.

At last, it was lunch time and Harry gathered his books and rushed down the halls, through the cafeteria and out the door. He arrived at his favourite bench and threw himself upon it. Yesterday seemed like a long time ago to Harry, now he believed it impossible that he had once felt so happy and healthy. He was shaking all over, felt dizzy and his head was throbbing.

_Maybe I could do for a nice walk,_ thought Harry positively, _If I get some fresh air and clear my mind maybe I'll feel a bit better._

Harry stood up, took a deep breath and began walking the perimeter. But instead of feeling better, Harry felt worse. He made it four steps before turning around and rushing back to the bench where he vomited behind it. Harry caught his breath, got off of his knees, and curled up on the bench sitting up feeling even worse now because of what he had just done.

Harry only just made it through the rest of the day. By the end, he was so burned out he no longer looked forward to seeing Samantha after school. All he wanted to do was to curl up in the streets far away from everybody and die. Still, he knew this was not possible and that if he showed Samantha that he was still sick, she might get frustrated and take him to the hospital, and if he ignored her, she might try to weasel it out of him and probably succeed. His plan was to not tell her much of what happened in school, and to not let her guess.

He arrived at his bus stop and got off of the bus. Then he hung back and waited for Dudley and his chortling friends to pass him, and turned away from 4 Privet Drive and headed toward the park alone. When he arrived at the park, he saw Samantha waiting for him by the tree house where they met, just as she had promised. She was wearing a t-shirt under a stylish sweatshirt that was a bit too large for her, a pair of blue jeans and sneakers and her curly hair swept up into a neat high ponytail with a bang in the front.

"Hi, Samantha." Harry said as he drew nearer to her.

"Hi Harry!" she said excitedly. She gave him a small hug around the shoulders. "How was school today?"

"It was good," Harry lied. A guilty feeling was beginning to brew in the pit of his stomach.

"Glad to hear it. I have a bit of a surprise waiting for you. I've been working on it all day. Come this way."

She took his hand and began to lead him diagonally across the park. "After today, we won't be able to meet in my house anymore because my parents will be back from Bristol, and I thought, where else are we going to meet? Definitely not the tree house, it's too open to the public and we wouldn't want to be selfish and prevent any little kids from playing pirates. So I spent the afternoon looking around and I've found the perfect spot."

She and Harry walked out of the borders of the park and into an area with thick giant sequoia trees. Samantha stopped in front of one of those trees, kneeled down and crawled into the relatively small crawlspace. Harry hesitated, wondering if the two of them would be able to fit into it, but then crawled in after her.

What Harry had imagined would be a small cramped up little area, was actually rather spacious. It was a hollow hole inside a tree that must've once been the home to a small animal. However, Samantha spent the day fixing and cleaning it to make it suitable for her and Harry to play in. The walls were sanded all around, so that the area smelled like tree wood and it was large enough for Harry and Samantha, and left a space for them to move around in. The ceiling, was also sanded so that it just graced the top of Samantha's ponytail. She patted down the soil on the ground and placed a large old mat on it, so that they wouldn't get muddy on rainy days. Samantha had also spent a decent amount of time house-keeping. There was a small battery powered electric heater in one of the corners that was keeping them warm, and a couple of empty frames scattered about the walls. But what really caught Harry's attention was a giant banner on the wall directly opposite the entrance with an extensively decorate rainbow border.

"Do you like it?" Samantha asked him after they both had surveyed the room.

"Yeah," said Harry. It didn't sound sincere, though he meant what he said very much. "What's the banner for?"

"Oh!" said Samantha, excitedly, "I was thinking that we could make up a name for our little club, you know, to make it official. We don't have to come up with it now, but when we do we can write it on this banner and colour it. It'll make us seem more special, don't you think?"

"Yeah," said Harry, just as half-heartedly as last time.

"You don't like it," said Samantha, the excitement clearing off of her face as she noticed Harry's tone.

"I do. . ." said Harry, but Samantha was not convinced.

"Is it something specific? Or is it the entire idea? Because we can nix it ... I just thought..."

"I said that I like it!" Harry yelled, louder than was necessary. The guilt that was building inside him had mixed with anger and was now overflowing. "Nobody ever believes me! Why does nobody ever believe me? I've never even lied before! It's not fair! Nothing and nobody is fair to me! Why? What did I do?"

He made to throw something but stopped and remembered that he was supposed to be convincing Samantha that everything was okay. He lowered his hands, took a deep breath and stalked toward the exit hole but Samantha grabbed hold of his arm.

"Let... go... of me..." he struggled, trying to twist his arm out of her grasp. But Samantha held tight.

"Stop it!" she said, "Stop it, stop it STOP IT!" Harry froze, panting. "Why are you so mad? You never act like this. What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing!" he barked, giving his arm another hard pull. Samantha's grip remained firm. "Let me go!"

"Not until you tell me what's up," said Samantha firmly, "Did something happen at school?"

"No..."

"Harry, please, I just want to help you. Why won't you tell me? Are you scared? Did someone threaten you? I can help you Harry, I just want to help—"

"Stop, please! I'm sorry okay!" Harry yelled, his guilt replacing the anger. Samantha let go of his arm as Harry broke down into tears. "I tried so hard... I really did... I couldn't help it... but I really tried..."

"What? What happened?" Samantha asked but Harry was crying too hard to tell her. Samantha crossed her legs and pulled Harry over sitting him down next to her. "Settle down, Harry." she said holding his hand, "What were you talking about?"

"In school," Harry began, sniffling, "It was so hard, being absent. My teacher hates me... she was making it s-so hard... it was test after test... I didn't know any of the answers... and she was teaching so fast... I didn't get any of it..."

"Well that's perfectly understandable," said Samantha, "That often happens when you're absent. I don't know why you couldn't just tell me in the first—"

"There's more," said Harry ashamedly, "After class, during recess... I was just so... I don't know. I couldn't take it anymore, I was dizzy and my head hurt so bad... and that's when... I really tried not to Samantha, but I couldn't help it..."

"Out with it Harry! What did you do?"

"I... I threw up in school today." said Harry finally. Samantha clasped a hand over her mouth. "I tried to go for a walk, and do anything to stop it but...I couldn't. But please don't send me to the hospital... it was only once and I felt better after... I feel fine now, I swear—"

"That's what you were afraid of?" asked Samantha almost laughing with relief, "You thought if you told me I would send you to the hospital?" Harry nodded. "Oh Harry, you had me so worried! I thought something serious happened! I thought somebody hurt you!" She hugged him tight.

Harry was confused. "But I was sick." he said again, making sure that Samantha had heard him right.

"Yes Harry, but that's perfectly normal. After class you felt overwhelmed, you were sick because of nerves not because of your illness. I'm not taking you to the hospital, I think you're okay. Did you do everything I asked yesterday? Have you eaten?"

"I had a piece of plain toast for breakfast this morning," said Harry, sighing with relief. Samantha always had a way of easing his fears.

"Well no wonder you're so cranky, that's not nearly enough food for a day," she said reaching over and grabbing the bag from the corner. "I bought you a turkey sandwich from the delicatessen, in case you were hungry, or we can go over the material you learned in school today so you're prepared for tomorrow. In this clubhouse, you can have whatever you want and do whatever you want, within reason of course. What do you want Harry?"

Harry gave a slight smile. "A shoulder to lie on would be nice," he said quietly, "and that turkey sandwich looks really good."

Samantha gestured for Harry to come sit on her lap and he did so, resting his head on her shoulder. Then she handed him the sandwich and Harry accepted it, unwrapped it and began to eat.

After Harry finished his sandwich, Samantha, who was still holding him on her lap, took Harry's notebooks out of his backpack and taught him the material he missed. She was a very good teacher, she spoke in plain simple words that Harry could understand, was very patient and taught at a decent pace for learning, unlike Mrs. Forrester who seemed to zoom through all of her lessons. They managed to finish Harry's tons of homework in less than an hour, with Harry understanding every bit of what was taught to him.

"Are you an angel from heaven Samantha?" Harry asked, after he and Samantha had been sitting in silence for several minutes, staring at the red wires of the heater, with Harry's head resting on Samantha's chest.

Samantha looked down at him, smiling. "Why do you ask?" she said laughing.

"I dunno," said Harry turning to look at her. "I got this idea when I was sick that you were an angel and I never asked you if you were. Why else were you the only one who wanted to help me? And you're really pretty and you always know how I feel and what I want and you care about me when nobody else does. You have to be my guardian angel, right?"

Samantha's cheeks were nearly crimson and she was smiling broadly. "That's very flattering of you, Harry, but no I'm not an angel, I promise. Just a regular girl."

"But you're not a regular girl," said Harry, "You're very special to me." Harry yawned and faced the heater again. "I just wish you could be with me all the time." he said, sadly.

Samantha put her hand through Harry's hair. He had no idea how happy that made her. "Oh, Harry, you've absolutely made my day." she said, "And though I wish I could be with you all the time too, I know I can't. That's why I brought you this."

She reached over his head, grabbed the bag again, reached inside and pulled out a small caramel brown bear with a red bow around its neck.

"Happy birthday!" she said handing it to him with a huge smile on her face. She looked very excited.

Harry turned around and gasped at the little bear. "Samantha!" he said, taking it and giving it a big hug, "I... I don't know what to say... I... you didn't have to..."

"Nonsense, Harry. You made me very sad the other day when you told me you've never had a birthday present, so I went out and bought you one. It was the least I could do for you."

"But... But Samantha...you've already done more than enough..." said Harry, who was now inspecting the bear as though he were a new fiancé with a diamond ring.

"Not even close," she said, "Besides, I figured you would need something to help you when I couldn't. Now, anytime you feel scared or sad, just take out –"

"Carter." said Harry happily, "His name is Carter."

Samantha smiled. "Just take out Carter and give him a big hug and he'll make you feel better."

"Samantha, thank you so much! I love it!" Harry exclaimed. "I've always wanted a stuffed animal of my own! Look, it even smells like you."

"I put a bit of my perfume on it." she explained. "I thought it would help. And you're very welcome and I'm so glad you like it."

Harry stood up and hugged Samantha tightly. He could hardly remember why he was so upset a few hours ago, now. She had a knack for doing that to him.

"Oh, look at the time," she said pointing over to the clock hanging up on the wall. "You ought to be on your way home. Your aunt will want you for dinner soon.

She put on his jacket and backpack and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "See you tomorrow my love." she said.

"Bye, Samantha." said Harry, still smiling excitedly, and he left the clubhouse and ran all the way home, clutching the little bear in his pocket.

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_Author's Note: Please review! =)_

_xoxo Bailey x3_


	13. Chapter 13

_Author's Note: hey guys! Sorry this is so late and so short, I just wanted to prove to you all that I am still writing this story and that it's almost finished! I am also working on a new story. I hope you enjoy the chapter! xoxo Bailey_

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For the next few months, Harry and Samantha were each others best friends. Samantha would pick Harry up from the playground every afternoon following school (Harry lied to the Dursleys and told them he had detention every day after school for the rest of the year just because he existed. They were quick to believe that one) and they would walk together to their clubhouse beneath the tree which they nicknamed HASS-HO, because it sounded funny and stood for Harry and Samantha's Secret Hide-Out. There, Samantha would help Harry finish his homework and then they would find a game to play or something to colour or just sit and talk to each other for the remaining couple of hours until Harry had to go home. Once in a while, Samantha would take Harry out to lunch as a surprise, when he was feeling especially down. There was one instance, sometime in January, when Samantha came down with a terrible bout of flu. Harry insisted to take good care of her, and he did. He made her soup all by himself, he sat with her later than they usually stayed, even if it meant him getting in trouble, and he lent her Carter insisting he would make her feel better.

Carter became very important to Harry from the moment he got it. He made sure that Dudley never saw him, and Carter in return made sure that Harry was never alone. In fact, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were becoming more and more annoyed at Harry's confidence. But it annoyed no one more than it did Dudley. Whenever Dudley felt like bullying Harry, Harry would laugh and run (and usually beat Dudley) as though it were a game. It became less fun to try to bully him and so Dudley turned to trying to get him into trouble. But even that never bothered him, no punishment Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon gave out affected Harry in the least. And no one had a single clue why. Carter was Harry's little secret. He was what kept his hope alive. And everything was perfect in Harry's life for a while.

But one day, that all changed.

One evening, the Kinney's were eating dinner together as a family, for the first time in so long. Samantha was enjoying her parents company, even though they only seemed to be able to talk about their lives and themselves.

"We should get a pool." Samantha said, trying to keep the conversation going after things got quiet. "Olivia Watson just got one and refuses to invite me because I called her a whore. Besides, you're always going on about how I should make more friends and I think that would help." she said. None of those reasons were valid though, really she was thinking about Harry's laughter as he swam and played in her pool when he came to her house over the summer while her parents were out. He probably didn't even know how to swim. She would definitely have to give him lessons some day...

"Maybe we'll have a pool in our new home." said Robert Kinney, not looking up from his plate but instead keeping his eyes on his peas.

It took Samantha a moment to register what her father said in her head. She was still thinking about Harry's swimming lessons as she scooped herself another spoonful of mash. However, when it finally did register, she dropped her spoon full of potatoes and it made a loud noise against her plate that startled both of her parents.

"I'm sorry, our new what?" she asked infuriatedly.

"Oh dear, I do believe we've forgotten to tell Samantha our exciting news!" said Elizabeth Kinney patting her husband's elbow almost patronizingly. She turned to her daughter. "Do you remember that business ball that your father and I went to in October of last year? Well, your father and I met a very nice and very important man who is going to make our dreams come true! He owns an office building in Leeds, has a daughter who's a lawyer and a wife in business and legal management! He told us he has a very simple way for us to rent out the space and finally have our own practice together! But he said we had to move quickly. We'll be gone by the end of the week! It was an offer we couldn't pass up! Isn't it exciting darling?"

"Leeds? Leeds!" Samantha exclaimed, her temperature rising. The smile and excitement on her mother's face completely disappeared. But Leeds is all the way back up near Manchester where we came from! I've _just_ began to settle in here! I've made new friends... I'm very important to people! We can't leave now!"

"Well I'm sorry dear, but we've already finalized everything." said Robert Kinney in a very calm voice. "Don't you think you're being a bit unreasonable? We've only been here a few months."

"I'm the one being unreasonable? I'm the one being unreasonable?" Samantha was on her feet and seething with rage. She had never been so angry. "You've been moving me all around the freaking country all my life and never have you once considered my feelings about it. Never!" She picked up one of the many porcelain cats her mom had collected from her visits in Egypt from off the nearby shelf and smashed it on the ground.

"Samantha Victoria!"

"Don't Samantha Victoria me mother!" she hollered. "I've had it! You don't love me... you only care about yourselves and your stupid jobs! I hate you! I hate you, I hate you, I HATE YOU!" she cried, and she marched into her room and slammed the door shut.


	14. Chapter 14

_So sorry this took so long to post! This story is almost finished, but I've been really busy and distracted. I wiill finish it though! I promise!  
Thanks always for reading :) xoxo Bailey_

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Samantha could not remember ever feeling so angry. She screamed for no reason and threw all of the contents of her decorative shelf on the ground. Shattered glass from the frames of her photos lay sparkling all over the floor. She threw herself on her bed and began to cry.

_I don't even know how I'm going to tell Harry,_ she thought, becoming even more upset at the thought of his innocent happy little face. She knew how much he depended on her and the thought of being so far away from him made her feel so upset it was sickening. She was tired of making friends and losing them every so often because of her parents' inability to make up their minds. She was _always_ depressed the first week after moving. _I'm not doing it again,_ she refused, wiping the tears from her cheeks and sitting up. _I can't handle it anymore, I just can't. _Then she got an idea. _It'll be best for the both of us, me and Harry, if I end it harshly. He's strong. He'll hate me and he won't miss me, and hopefully, eventually, I can convince myself to feel the same about him. _Though Samantha felt certain in her plan at first, as she dressed in her pyjamas and climbed into bed, deep in her heart sat a heavy feeling that she was about to cause more damage to Harry than her parents had ever caused to her.

The next day, Harry was riding the school bus home, bouncing in his seat with anticipation. He would be seeing Samantha soon, and he had made a mother's day project for her in art class, his very first. He couldn't wait to see the look on her face when he showed it to her.

Dudley wasn't in school today, so when the bus came to a halt at his stop, Harry saw Samantha standing there waiting for him. There was something different about her today, she wasn't dressed in her normal bright colours, instead she was wearing black, and black makeup, which made her seem more depressing. But Harry didn't mind. He thought maybe she was just trying out a new style. He thought Samantha was so creative.

He jumped off the final step on the bus and stuck a landing on the concrete, as he always did. Only this time, Samantha didn't applaud. Harry wondered what the matter was. She handed the bus driver over the £10 that she usually did, to prevent him from telling Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon about her. Then he drove off, and she began to walk over to the tree house without him.

"Wait up for me!" he said running behind her, his backpack bouncing behind him. Samantha said nothing. They walked in silence all the way to the clubhouse. Harry noticed something different about the clubhouse, perhaps it was roomier... maybe Samantha moved the furniture around a little bit.

"It's nice and clean in here..." Harry noted. Samantha said nothing and sat in her usual spot on the floor.

"I have something for you." he said getting a jumping excited feeling inside as he reached inside his knapsack, "I think it will cheer you up a little bit."

He meandered his hand around the bag until his fingertips graced the dry pasta on the cover. He carefully grabbed it and pulled it out of the bag presenting it with a "Tah-dah!"

Samantha took it from Harry and examined it. It was very good considering a six year old had done it. It was obvious to her that Harry had spent quite some time on it. Written as neatly as possible in all glue-glitter letters, the cover read, "Happy Mother's Day, Samantha!" These words were framed in macaroni, which Harry had done his best to colour as neatly as possible using teal marker, as teal was Samantha's favourite colour. Samantha opened the card and there was a stick figure picture, one bigger female stick figure (as so defined by her stick figure dress) with curly black hair and blue lines for eyes, which resembled Samantha, and a smaller male stick figure with straight and messy stick figure hair and green lines for eyes, which resembled Samantha. Both stick figures had huge smiles on, and were holding her hands in the air as though waving at Samantha. The Harry stick figure was for some reason wearing a back pack. The bottom half of the card read, "_Dear Samantha, I know your not my reel mum, but in skool we learnt that a mum is someone who takes care of us and loves us and makes us laff and smile. Sints my mummy isn't here I made you a card insted becos you are the best mummy an orfen like me could ever ask for. Thank you so much for everything you do for me. I love you! Love, Harry._"

Samantha looked up from the card at Harry's eager face. "Well...? Do you like it?"

Samantha looked back at the card and fought tears. She took a deep breath, then closed the card and placed it on one of the few remaining tables.

Harry's smile disappeared. "You don't like it..." he said. Samantha simply looked away from him.

Harry came closer to Samantha and put a tiny hand on her cheek. "You seem really upset," he said, caringly, "What's the matter?"

Samantha looked at the floor, a film of tears in her eyes. It was going to be way harder to do this than she thought it would.

"Talk to me, Samantha." Harry said, sitting down in front of her, desperately trying to make eye contact. "I know I'm little and, I can't do much but... well you always said, talking about it can help a lot—"

"I'm moving." she said, finally speaking.

Harry removed his little hand from Samantha's face and his jaw dropped in shock. He stood there, frozen for a moment, but then shook himself out of it and said, "Well that _is_ sad, but there's no need to be upset! We'll keep in touch... You can write me letters! I've never gotten a letter before... And you'll be driving soon! So you can always come and visit me. We'll make this work, Samantha, there's no need to be upset."

Harry took Samantha's hand and gave her a kind smile, one which she did not return. She looked at him and then looked back at the ground.

And that's when Harry knew.

"Unless...you don't want this to work, Samantha, do you?" he said sadly, letting go of her hand, his smile melting onto a frown. "You don't want this to work, do you? Because if you wanted this to work you would make it work! You always have! That's why we're here right now!"

Samantha said nothing. She continued to stare at him, which only made Harry feel more frustrated. "What did I do, Samantha? _Why _don't you want this to work? Was it something I did? Was it something I said? Because, if I said something mean then I'm sorry, I truly am. I never meant to say anything or do anything that would hurt your feelings. You know how much I love you, don't you? Won't you forgive me? Don't you love me?"

He looked at Samantha again and their eyes met. And even he, a positive thinking and innocent young boy of six and a half years of age, could see the lack of interest and lack of care in Samantha's eyes. He was sure, because it was the same lack of care that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia gave him each and every day. It was a look that seemed unfamiliar and ugly upon Samantha's caring, kind and angelic face.

They held eye contact for a few seconds and then Samantha dropped her gaze to the ground again. Harry felt a fiery ball of anger and hurt begin to build within him. "You don't love me, do you, Samantha?" Harry asked, his voice cracking with hurt. Samantha kept her gaze on the ground and remained quiet. It was really beginning to tick Harry off that she refused to talk to him.

"No." he said, stronger now, "You don't love me. You never did. You... I don't understand! Samantha, if you never loved me then why did you waste all of that time with me? Why did you take such good care of me when I was really sick that one day, and every time after that? If you don't love me then why would you tell me you did, when you _know_ how important those words are to me? If you don't love me then why did you build me this clubhouse? Why did you buy me presents? Why were you always there for me whenever I needed you? WHY DID YOU TELL ME YOU DID, SAMANTHA?"

As he yelled, Harry could feel his head throbbing in his eyes. Samantha still remained quiet, staring at the ground as though Harry had said nothing at all. Completely worn out and sick of shouting, Harry said, "You... you are the meanest most evil... person I have ever met. I can't believe I ever thought you were an angel. You're obviously a... a villain. You're and evil, nasty, mean, villain Samantha. Have fun wherever you're moving, I hope you get thrown in jail someday for being so evil."

With that Harry stormed out of the clubhouse without looking at Samantha, but her eyes were on him as he left, filled with tears.


	15. Chapter 15

Harry burst open the door to the Dursley home and slammed the door shut behind him. He heard Aunt Petunia begin to shout at him but for once in his life, Harry couldn't care less about what she had to say. In a rage of fury Harry stormed into the living room and emptied all of the contents of his bag until at last, the little brown bear Samantha had given him tumbled onto the floor. He looked at it one more time, and his eyes filled with tears as he threw it mercilessly into the fireplace. He stood there for a moment, watching the bear as it crumbled slowly atop the burning wood, allowing his tears to fall. This was the first time he was crying in months. Finally Harry stormed away, into his cupboard underneath the stairs slamming the door shut as the bear began to crumble and melt until at last it was only a pile of smoking ash.

That night when Harry finally closed his heavy eyes to rest, he dreamed of Samantha. She was always at first being the sweet caring kind Samantha that Harry always knew. Once she was holding his hand and walking through the park with him, smiling down at him and making him laugh at her silly faces and random songs. Then all of a sudden without reason, her face would become angry, and clouds would form around them or all of a sudden it would become unnaturally dark. Her beautiful blue eyes would turn red and she would look at Harry with a chilling evil smile. Then, she would strangle him with her bare hands or beat him until he could no longer move or pull out a knife and chase him, until he couldn't breathe and his heart was beating out of his chest. Each dream left Harry awake in bed, clutching his chest and breathing heavily, with tears rolling down his face.

At around three in the morning, Harry climbed out of bed and put on his dressing robe and slippers. He could not take it anymore. He knew exactly why he was so afraid and he was going to try and fix it. Samantha had made him so dependent on hugs and kisses and affection, and now that she was leaving... just thinking about going the rest of his life without it terrified Harry.

He snuck through the house, being very careful to avoid creaks in the floor that he knew of, trying hard not to wake Dudley, for it would only cause more trouble for Harry. A nervous feeling fluttered in the pit of his stomach. He tried to calm himself down. The Dursleys were mean, but they weren't _that_ mean...

He swallowed hard and pushed open the door to his Aunt and Uncle's room, which they had left slightly open. The television was turned off and he could hear his Uncle snoring loudly from within the pillow.

"Uncle Vernon? Aunt Petunia?" Harry said in a small voice which cracked as he spoke. He was shaking. He wished he wasn't so nervous...

He cleared his throat and tried again. "Uncle Vernon? Aunt Petunia?"

This time, Uncle Vernon's snoring stopped and Harry heard a moan from his side of the bed. Aunt Petunia mumbled, "Who's there? Dudley?"

"No," Harry replied, "It's me Harry. I have something really important to confess to you."

He waited for an answer from them, but received none. They weren't snoring though so that meant they weren't asleep, so Harry continued...

"For the past couple of months... Well, seven months exactly, I've been coming home late and randomly disappearing at all times of the day, and I've been telling you that I've had things like weekend detentions and mandatory chores for the school... Well all of that was a lie, I've never had a detention before, I've never been to the school on a weekend. The truth is... that I was with a girl. She _was_ a very nice girl... but I'm not going to tell you her name because I don't want her to get in trouble."

Harry waited for a second, expecting Uncle Vernon to demand to know Samantha's name, but instead there was more silence. He supposed they were in shock.

"She was older than me, and... and she took care of me... I always imagined what it would be like to be adopted and... well, she showed me. And it was lovely." Tears started to fill Harry's eyes. "But... she's gone now. She's not dead, but... well she just wasn't the lovely, nice girl I thought she was. But still, after spending so much time with her I... I've gotten used to certain things... Certain really nice things she would do that I'm not sure I can live without now that she's gone. So that's why I'm telling this to you." he said, wiping away the streams of tears that were forming down his cheeks. "I need you to pretend. I'm not going to ask for the real thing... I realise it's too much... You don't love me, I get it. But I really just need to pretend that someone does... I'm not asking for anything big, just a simple 'Good-morning' and 'Good-night' every once in a while, maybe once a week, or even once every other week... and perhaps a pat on the head or something... perhaps once a month... just so I don't forget... forget what it feels like..."

Harry tried hard to stop crying. He took a deep breath, rubbing the tears away as he did, allowing himself to calm down just a little bit. He took another deep breath to steady his voice and said, "Do you think you can do that for me?" There was desperation in his voice.

There was silence as Harry waited for an answer. After a minute when no answer came he said in a quiet, helpless voice, "_Please_. You're my only—"

"Go to bed, Harry." grumbled the tired and cranky voice of Harry's Aunt Petunia.

For a moment Harry stood there, trying to verify that he had heard correctly. "I… But… This is really important, I wouldn't be bothering you if it—"

"Go to BED!" Uncle Vernon grumbled loudly, scaring Harry. For a second, Harry stood there, mouth open, desperately racking his brains for something to say to convince them…. To make them understand… But there was nothing. It would take some form of strong magic to force them to listen to him. And as far as he knew, Harry wasn't a magician.

Harry turned around and left their room, trying hard to pretend that it didn't bother him. He didn't cry as he left the room quietly, closing the door behind him. He even managed to make it all the way down the stairs before his legs lost the well to keep moving and he broke down at the bottom of the staircase, hugging the railing tightly, trying to keep himself from falling apart.

There were several moments when he was with Samantha that he couldn't believe it was true. There were times he doubted his life was real and believed that it would all be taken away from him soon. There were times life was so good he expected to snap unexpectedly out of a dream and wake up to the sad world he once lived in. Eventually he had accepted the fact that for once something good was happening in his life and just when he started to believe that he deserved to be happy, it was all taken away from him. He'd like to think he wasn't surprised, but he was. Never in his life would he expect his angel Samantha to hurt him more than anyone else ever had in his whole life.

And then there was the Dursleys. Harry thought after living with them for five years they would care about him at least a little bit. They raised him, and spent so much time and money on him (although perhaps sometimes it was not enough) he thought that would mean _something._ He hoped there was a flicker of love for him in their hearts somewhere that he could perhaps turn into a flame, that although would never be the same as Dudley's, would do more than suffice for him. But it was impossible. Hurting Harry gave them much more satisfaction than making him happy. And he was so tired of being hurt.

He briefly considered running away. Why not? He had nothing to lose anymore. Maybe he would come across some people who would finally understand him, someone who would notice how he was feeling and maybe adopt him for real. And they would love him and take great care of him and he would finally know what it was like to have a real loving family. But Harry knew this would only happen in his imagination. He reminded himself that there was no such thing as people who loved him. At least not anymore. That dream had literally died years ago.

After hysterically crying at the base of the staircase for what seemed like hours, Harry decided not to leave and returned to his dark cupboard under the stairs. That was it. He had had enough. He was finished being the one everyone looked to beat on in order to get their satisfaction. He was done with always being the easy target. That night Harry promised himself that he would never cry, never show his weaknesses to anyone anymore. Samantha had not only lied to him but she was utterly wrong. Trusting people was stupid. It was a waste of his time. His life was just fine the way it was before. It was how it was supposed to be; at least for him.

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_Hey guys, thanks as always for reading. I've been so terrible with updating, I know and I'm sorry! I have FINALLY finished writing the story after 3 years, and **I still have one chapter left to upload **that still needs to be edited. This weekend is busy for me, so I'll probably get around to it sometime next week. Thanks again for all of your support! _

_xx Bailey _


	16. Chapter 16

Harry remained in his room for a long time, refusing to come out to eat or do chores, actually telling Aunt Petunia and Uncle Dursley no, despite their idle threats to beat him. They never came in and bothered him either. They seemed to know when Harry was really upset and, although they were cruel, they were never ruthless enough to add on more punishment. At least not at the moment. He knew they would get him later.

Even Samantha's departure couldn't spark any energy into Harry. He woke up quite early that morning and lay in bed staring at the ceiling, part of him wishing she would come to the house at the last minute and apologise. A piece of him wanted her to tell him that she was making a huge mistake and that she would miss him so much and would do anything and everything to stay in contact with him. Just like they always did in the movies. But this again was another product of Harry's imagination and no such thing happened. Samantha left without Harry ever saying goodbye.

In the weeks that followed, Harry lost a lot of weight from not eating for several days at a time. He didn't sleep much because of the nightmares that kept returning. But Harry didn't care at all anymore. About anything. From then on, whenever he was angry he kept it to himself; the rage burning inside of him. Whenever he was sad, he did not cry but instead went into a trans-like state and did not say anything to anyone for the rest of the day. When he was hungry, instead of sneaking into the kitchen and purposely getting caught to try for a chance to reason with his aunt and uncle, he stayed in his room, with his insides aching painfully with hunger. And when he was scared, he no longer screamed and cried to no avail, but he bit his lip hard and dealt with it, shaking violently and alone in his dark room. And he did this for a month and a half until one day...

He was sitting alone in recess, as he usually did, watching the other children enjoy their game of cricket, when the ball rolled over toward him. Usually Harry would reach down to pick it up and pass it back to them, secretly hoping they would invite him to join them. But he was too depressed, and instead watched it pass him and roll into the deep bushes of poison ivy.

"Hey! What did you let it do that for?" said Thomas Mason, the cutest, coolest kid in Harry's class, with his heavy London accent.

Harry said nothing. He simply shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't like your attitude..." said Thomas Mason and he stomped toward Harry, with a look of hatred in his eye. But Hayley stepped in front of him and stopped him.

"No Thomas!" she shouted in her annoyingly whiney girlish voice, "If you beat him up, then you'll get in trouble! I'll go get Dudley. Besides," she said with a snide look at Harry, "He's more afraid of Dudley anyway." And she skipped off.

However, Hayley was very wrong. Harry was no longer afraid of Dudley. Dudley had noticed Harry's decline in self-confidence since Samantha left and had increased the amount of bullying to twice as much than before. Harry had learned to just take it, because there was nothing he could do about it but look forward to it being over.

Yet Hayley returned with Dudley anyway and pointed over to where Harry was sitting with her ridiculously sparkly pink finger. They stomped over to him as a crowd formed around them.

"So," said Dudley in his "teaching" voice, "I hear you've been acting smart."

"I don't have to act." said Harry casually, knowing this would only make him angrier.

"Don't get clever with me cousin," he said, his face becoming red with anger, "I'll knock your face in."

Everyone laughed and oh-ed. "This is none of your business anyway," said Harry, beginning to get upset, "This is between me and that git Thomas Mason."

"Hey!" said Thomas, emerging from behind two children, Hayley tagging along behind him, looking equally as offended. Harry didn't know that he was amongst the crowd. "Are you calling _me_ a git?"

"I wasn't... I didn't mean to..."

"Tommy," whined Hayley, "Don't do anything... Dudley will handle it..."

"I'm the loser?" Thomas spat at Harry, ignoring Hayley completely, "You're the one who doesn't have any friends!"

"Or parents," added Dudley, "They probably died because they didn't want you anymore."

Everyone in the crowd laughed at this. Harry couldn't imagine how they could all possibly be so cruel. "That's... that's not true..."

"I'm Harry. Where's my mummy? She died because she didn't want to have an ugly freak like me for a son. Now I cry about it every day." Dudley then began fake crying overdramatically sending the crowd into intense amounts of laughter.

There was not one person who was not laughing. It was ringing in his ears, obnoxiously reverberating in his eardrums. He charged straight at Dudley with all of his might and pushed him causing Dudley to stumble back two steps. The crowd fell silent. Dudley and Harry stared at each other, Harry panting hard and Dudley glaring at him, his eyes wide with shock. Harry could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

Suddenly, Dudley chuckled. And with Dudley's chuckle came a few more from the crowd until it was back to full blown laughter. Harry looked around at the crowd of students. Not one person was kind enough to feel bad for Harry. It made him feel sick inside. All of a sudden there was a blow to his back that knocked him off his feet and sent Harry flying about a metre or two. He hit the ground with a painful thud and his glasses flew off of his face. The children laughed harder, if that was even possible and Dudley was praised. Everyone gathered around Dudley and patted him on the back as though he was a trophy winning athlete, and they walked away as though nothing had happened.

Harry felt overwhelmed. Not only did he feel like someone shattered his spine, but he was also angry, very angry. He wanted to yell, to scream out everything he had kept to himself for so long. It was beginning to hurt him physically. He had a headache, he'd lost his appetite and his stomach had been hurting him.

Finally it hit him. _I'm not angry,_ he thought, pushing himself off the ground, _I'm hurt. I'm upset. Samantha left me after telling me to put all of my trust in her. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon won't love me no matter what I do or how many times I ask, they can't even pretend, and not one person in my entire school is nice enough to stand up for me when I'm being bullied. I can't take it anymore! I just want to... to..._

For the first time in nearly two months, Harry cried hysterically letting go of all of the pain he kept in. He felt beyond hopeless, now he had even less than he did before Samantha.

He did not return to class. When the bell rang calling all of the children back in from recess, Harry remained outside though he was not crying. When he could gather enough strength to move he climbed carefully over the gates of the school and began his walk home. He didn't care if he was spotted by the fellow students, administrators or even the police. He only cared about himself, because nobody else would ever.

The End

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_Author's Note: Hey guys. Well that's it! Thanks for reading and being so supportive and (for the most part) sweet. I never ever thought my stories would be this popular. And you guys' compliments and excited and enthusiastic comments gave me self-confidence and energy when I really needed it sometimes._

_A lot of you gave me suggestions in private messages and reviews that I should make the ending of the story happy. So I thought I owe an explanation to those who care why I didn't end the story with a happy ending where Harry and Samantha lived happily ever after together, or a flash forward where they meet again and Harry forgives her. I wasn't ignoring you, in fact I thought about it, and I even tried to write it, but I've had this ending in my head since before I even put it on this website and I just couldn't change it. It wouldn't have been as good because the idea didn't come from my own head. Also, I like to write about things that JK Rowling may have not included in her books, meaning I don't like to write things that could change anything that JK Rowling wrote in the Harry Potter novels. If I made Harry and Samantha know each other, it would have changed Harry's future completely, and I think his future is so perfect the way it is! But you guys can feel free to rewrite the ending if you really have strong feelings about it! Just let me know because I'd love to read it! :)_

_Thanks again for the mostly positive feedback. I might be writing another story, but it wouldn't go up until this summer because I have to get myself through my second semester of college first! But please look out for it if you really liked this one._

_Love always,_

_Bailey Elizabeth xx_


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